


Learning To Write

by Sootsprites_in_the_Chimney



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Biosex Female Reader, Canon Divergence - Complete Liberation, Everyone needs more hugs, F/F, F/M, Found Family, I don't know how to tag things please forgive me, I dunno I wanted more gay so I decided to write it myself, It will definitely get there but dang, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Second Person, Platonic Love & Romantic Love, Polyamory, Slice of Life, Slow Burn., hugs for everyone, soooooooo sloooooooooooow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sootsprites_in_the_Chimney/pseuds/Sootsprites_in_the_Chimney
Summary: The story of trying to undo the mistakes of the past and the present.





	1. Drawing a Blank

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a WIP and technically my first fanfic ever, so things are gonna be pretty rough (erratic tense's GALORE, I'm warning you now) until I get my footing. I hope you enjoy the story spawned from my wish that Pyre was gayer.
> 
> *jazz hands*

Of the three of them, you found the nomad - Hedwyn, he'd said his name was - to be the least intimidating. PROBABLY because he hadn't made any threats, overt or otherwise, to dissuade you from lying to the group or leading them astray. Perhaps he realized how lost you were? Could he see the sense of constant free fall in the set of your jaw, in the way you averted your eyes whenever someone came near you? Or, most likely, he'd just accepted that you had no idea what you were doing when you'd told him as much the first night.

_The cur, Rukey, sidled over to where you sat in the corner of the bunk area (unofficially dubbed 'the spot the new person sits so we can make sure they don't bolt') and asked, "So you got a name, bud?"_

_You looked up from your lap to the cur, opening your mouth to answer only to stop, close your mouth and frown. Rukey quirked his head to the side, ears swerving forward expectantly._

_"I have a name." You stated, more to yourself than to him, brow furrowed. "It's the first word I learned to write."_

_"Uh," The cur tilted his head the other direction, "congrats on the start of your path to exile, bud, but I was...aiming for you to tell me what your name **was**." _

_Your eyes went back to him and you nodded slowly, recalling the electric sensation of rebellion as you copied what was written in the dirt. The texture of the stick in your hand. The warmth of an encouraging hand on your shoulder...but not the shape of the letters._

You remember your vision blurring and quietly curling into a ball, but judging by how abruptly Rukey had turned tail, fleeing out of the room and into the main wagon area, yelping that he "definitely didn't do it!!", there might have been considerably more wailing involved than you realized.

Hedwyn had appeared not long later with a bowl of something hot and a little...viscous and glossy for your tastes, but you'd taken it without complaint. He'd filled the silence with idle chatter in a way that only a person who's accustomed to being the main contributor in a conversation can, and when you'd had your fill he took your bowl, then returned with a canteen. Only once you'd filled your stomach and sated your thirst did the nomad ask what he'd come to ask.

"So you don't remember your name, my friend?"

Clutching the canteen with white-knuckled hands, you'd nodded. What followed was at least an hour of coaxing you to figure out what exactly the holes in your memory entailed. You remembered the commonwealth, your crime of literacy and your resulting exile. You knew about the war and could name the public figures of the commonwealth government. Essentially, any question that Hedwyn could think to ask you that he considered common knowledge you could answer with ease, but anything specific to you came up blank.

Your name? Definitely had letters in it. Your age? Probably in the double digits. Did you have any family? Most likely. Any living family? No idea. Who had taught you to read in the first place? Someone who knew how to read but hadn't been caught yet - at the time, anyway.

Actually, the only personal question about yourself that you could give even a partial answer to was about the one thing you hadn't even paused to wonder about.

"What happened to your leg?" He gestured to your left leg, which ended just above where your knee would be.

"Accident." You answered without pause.

"Oh?" Hedwyn's tone sounded hopeful. "What kind of accident?"

You closed your eyes, rifling through your mind for some sort of explanation, but...nothing came. With a sigh, you said that you didn't remember what exactly had happened, but by the look of the old scar tissue puckered at the end of the limb and how you hadn't been alarmed by the sight when you'd woken on the bank of the river that had carried you into the downside, you suspected it had happened a long time ago. You said as much, to which Hedwyn hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner that would have looked insincere if the nomad were anyone else.

After a few moments of silence, you informed him that you had no idea what you were doing.

That had been a few days ago now, and judging by the restlessness with which your three benefactors (captors? they'd asked you to come along and you'd agreed, because you had no doubt that the downside would swallow you whole if you were left alone and you felt like you owed the group that had nursed your back from the brink...did that count as consenting while under duress?) hurried about the wagon interior, your destination wasn't too far.

_Soon,_ you think, _we find out if my interpretation of the star's intent was right._

The way Jodariel had looked at you when she'd warned you not to decieve them came to mind, unbidden.

_Scribes, please let me have been right._


	2. Young People Ask the Important Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your newest team member asks what you didn't

After the Rite against the Accuser's (The Grudges, as Rukey snickeringly referred to them after Lendel's less-than-complimentary speech right before said Rite) at the Ridge of Gol, the atmosphere in the wagon lightened considerably. Any doubts about your ability to perform as a 'Reader' had dissipated, and left behind was a sort of unassuming camaraderie. You still had questions, largely about your companions -  _so many questions_ \- but you had enough sense not to push.

Several of your questions pertained to the moon-pale gentleman sleeping, or perhaps comatose, propped up against the wall nearest the table where the book of rites sat. He hadn't actually caught your attention until several days after you'd been picked up by ( _"Joined,"_ Hedwyn had corrected when he'd heard you describe the event the other way) the Nightwings, which if you were honest with yourself, had far more to do with you're then-state-of-mind than anything else.

It wasn't like the man blended in! He was a smudge of silvery white in an otherwise dim wagon interior, and he was wearing  _very_ nice clothes.

And yet, the others resolutely ignored his presence. Rukey, who would talk about anything and everything at the drop of a hat, pranced by the snoozing form without so much as a twitch of his mustache. Hedwyn, a generally open and warm man, kept at least a foot of space between them without any apparent thought. 

Force of habit? How long had that man been there??

Jodariel treated the sleeping man the same way she treated anything that wasn't immediately relevant: like vacant air.

You knew you weren't hallucinating because everyone's behavior made it obvious they were  _aware_ that he was there, but...the whole thing made you wary to directly ask about him.

* * *

"Who's that?" Asked the girl,  _Fae,_ _you'd suggested and she'd readily accepted_ , pointing directly at the pale man sleeping against the wall. From where you sat, perched on the stairs that lead into the sleeping quarters, you heard yourself make a noise akin to a startled, high pitched squeak.  _Smooth._

"Ah." Hedwyn said, eyes flicking from Fae, to the man, then back to her.

"Uh." Rukey eloquently added, ears swiveling back and forth for a moment before he sat and looked up to Jodariel; who, after a moment of silence and pleading looks from the cur, sighed.

"He's a minstrel." The demon gestured to the instrument cradled in the man's arms, and apparently Fae was the sort of person to find that a perfectly acceptable answer.

"Does he play music? I love music, I haven't heard music in so long - I mean I sing, sometimes, I like to think it sounds nice but singing feels nice and that's most important, but I don't have an instrument and instruments make lovely music, um, I'd like to hear him play, does he?"

Hedwyn and Rukey continued to look out of their element, while Jodariel nodded with an assuredness you suspected was _maybe_ a little fake.

"Minstrels do play music."

You peered at the blonde's face, trying to discern whether or not she was being patronizing, but - no, Jodariel seemed more the type to say exactly what she thought of a person's intelligence, rather than talk down to them in this manner. And if she wasn't being patronizing, and if Hedwyn and Rukey were as clueless as they were acting then-

_'Stars preserve me,'_   you think, mouth agape, _'they literally have no idea who this guy is or why he's here.'_

"Wonderful!" Fae claps her hands together, grinning broadly, "When will he wake up? Soon? I can wait if he's taking a nap, of course, that's only polite, but I would love to hear him play, did I say that, I think I did, I-"

You don't stay for the rest of the conversation, because you'd solved the sleeping-pale-guy puzzle and the solution had been _everyone had been clueless the whole damn time_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going for a 'stream of consciousness'-esque method of writing to help establish the Reader's character, which I hope doesn't impede anyone's understanding of what's going on. BUT, if a sentence isn't making sense, feel free to let me know so i can tweak it.
> 
> Each new member is going to get something of an introductory chapter, so timeline-wise the first couple chapters are going to be happening pretty close together, with later chapters having longer stretches of time in between story-wise.
> 
> Tense shifts out the wazoo again whoops
> 
> Catch ya on the flip side


	3. A Bit of a Shit Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I even need to warn about the tense shifts now? I'm a loosey goosey girl and I like loosey goosey tenses. Oh and remember that slow burn thing I mentioned? I found like, HALF a match.
> 
> I think I said last chapter that each character is gonna get something of an introductory section, which I usually aim to do in-between set game story events, but Tariq and Ti'zo are named/introduced sort of rapid fire, so the narrative of this one overlaps pretty heavily with specific story events, et cetera et cetera. Hopefully it didn't feel redundant??

To put it delicately, the 48 hours following the Rite at the Spring of Jomuer were a shit show. 

The Rite itself went well enough, aside from the Voice's sassing regarding your growing team, getting accustomed to Fae  _literally jumping like a frog_ , and lastly, accidentally referring to the Fate leader as Dadbert.

Bless the cur for laughing, because his son certainly didn't.

The Nightwings had emerged victorious, Dadb-DALBERT had departed with civil dignity, and once you'd pinpointed the location of the next Rite (The Cairn of Ha'ub) your group's wagon rolled east.

The 'shit' portion of the 'shit show' began about an hour into the trip, when Jodariel looked up from helping Hedwyn scrub the cooking pots and stood abruptly, pot and bundle of coarse scrubbing fabric still in hand.

"Stop the wagon."

The drive-imps responded immediately, bringing the wagon to a lurching halt that sent you sprawling against the center table, cane sliding along the floor and out of reach.

"Little brother...?" Came Fae's groggy voice from the bunk area. Clutching to table for support, you managed to get your foot under you and stand, glancing over your shoulder to see the pale girl wander into the main room, still wrapped in the largest blanket the Nightwings had.

Which, if you remembered correctly, was definitely Jodariel's. 

_'Did she give Fae the only blanket big enough to cover her so Fae could wrap herself in it? Jodariel is so sweet...'_ You think, and then immediately add, _'Wait, what?'_

"He's gone."

Jodariel's voice is much closer than you expected and you straighten dramatically, eyes wide, before realizing she's holding your cane out for you to take and not looking at you, but past you. You accept your cane with a quiet thanks, and use its support to turn to face what she's looking at.

Or, more accurately, what she's _not_ looking at.

"He's gone!" You echo, looking back to Jodariel. "Is he supposed to do that?"

"No." Hedwyn responds, having hurriedly put the cooking pots and utensils aside before coming to join the two of you beside the table. Fae wanders over a moment later, more a ball of blankets with legs than anything else. Was she cold? How was she cold, you were /literally/ in a desert. "He hasn't woken or moved since I dug the wagon up."

"Wait, what?" You say, aloud this time.

Rukey, who'd watched on in alarm since the wagon came to a halt, huffs something about 'spooky music men' under his breath, before saying more loudly "Well, do we look for him or what?"

Neither Jodariel or Hedwyn seems inclined to answer your question and instead look to Rukey, brows furrowed.

This is apparently the moment that Fae realized what everyone was talking about, and chirped "Oh, he's awake! Does that mean it's music time? That was a very long nap, maybe he shouldn't have walked off without eating something, I think?"

"That can be one of the questions we ask once we find him." Jodariel mutters darkly, but before she can step outside, Hedwyn stops her with a hand on her arm.

"Reader, how much time until the Rite?"

"Uh," you begin eloquently, "roughly two days? I don't think we can stay the night here, but other than that we have. Time?"

He nods, then says to Jodariel "Let's take a look around for signs of him, but our priority must be the Rite." The demon makes a frustrated sound but doesn't argue, and the two vanish through the door.

"Should I-" Fae interrupts herself with a long yawn, then continues "help look?"

"...No, you should rest." You half lean, half sit against the edge of the center table, glad that it was secured to the floor. "You clearly weren't eating or sleeping enough before finding us, and the Rite takes a lot out of even the healthiest person."

Rukey snorts, presumably at the implication that any of the Nightwings could be truthfully described as 'the healthiest', and you shot him a look. Ears swiveling back for a second before facing forward again, the cur trotted over, affecting a charming smile.

"Yeah kid, even _I'm_ tired. How's about we both go take a nap?" He tilted his head toward the bunk room. "I make sure you get some rest, and you make sure I get some rest. Deal?"

Fae hops in place twice, her blanket bundle rustling, then heads back to bed.

Rukey shrugs, apparently taking that as a yes, and winks at you before following after her.

It would almost be the most considerate thing you'd ever seen him do, if you didn't know for a fact that he would rather take a nap than sleuth for clues as to the minstrel's where-abouts in the hot desert sun.

* * *

Jodariel and Hedwyn only looked for signs of the Minstrel for half an hour, but given the intensity of the noon-day sun you don't blame them. Rukey and Fae are already asleep when they return - the cur had an impressive snore - so it's just you in the main room when they return. 

"No luck?" You asked from where you still sat at the center table, book of rites in hand.

Jodariel shook her head before sitting heavily on the stairs to the bunk area, face flushed. With a practiced ease likely stemming from before your exile (you'd started referring to that part of your life as simply 'Before'), you hold the edge of the table and stretch out your other hand, leaning dramatically to the right to snag a canteen from the supplies kept along the wall. Canteen in hand, you sit upright, then hold it out to her.

"...Thank you." Her expression didn't change but you got the sense that she was, maybe, a little surprised. She accepted the canteen, took a swig, then held it out toward Hedwyn as he walked over.

Even with her sitting and Hedwyn standing, the nomad was only half a head taller.

He murmured his thanks and took a swig, then secured the cap and returned the canteen to sit with the other supplies. After a moment of the the three of you sitting and listening to Rukey snore in the other room, the nomad asks "Shall we continue on?"

* * *

After passing back the way you'd come at Jodariel's suggestion and finding no evidence of the pale man's passage, the wagon rolled on, fully intent on making a bee line for the Cairn of Ha'ub.

And then Fae had woken with a cry, startling Rukey awake and sending him skittering out of the room on reflex.

_'They fear the scribes, we must be ready!'_ Fae had cried.

_'Howlers.'_ Jodariel had said, expression grim...mer than usual.

_'What the FUCK!!'_ you had shouted (Mentally, probably? How reactive was your physical body when you went...wherever you went during Rites? Did you even go anywhere??) while guiding the lone Fae in fending off waves of shrieking balls of teeth and fur.

_'Hree-Kiii!!'_  one particular drive-imp had trilled. He'd appeared at the end of the whole Howler situation, and you were able to understand him. Kind of. For...some reason.

You have a feeling that you'd never had a good sense of other people's intent Before, so was it a Reader thing? Fae seemed to be able to understand him as well, so maybe it wasn't a Reader thing, but also Fae seemed to sort to be able to understand animals to some extent. Maybe Fae being able to understand was a Fae thing and you being able to understand was a Reader thing??

Needless to say, when Jodariel called the wagon to a halt from where she stood near the front, peering out a window, you had such a splitting headache that you nearly shouted. Instead, you stayed where you were, sitting at the center table with your upper body slumped over it, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to  _will_ your headache away. Much to your chagrin, banishing head pain didn't appear to be on the list of 'Things Readers Can Do, Apparently'.

Fae went to stand at Jodariel's side, the drive-imp from the night before perched on her shoulder. "Not more howlers, I don't think - it's too quiet to be howlers, unless howlers can learn to be quiet?" The imp made a clicking/chirping noise that you interpreted to mean that the Howler's wouldn't come back while he was around. "Oh good!" Fae replied.

Hedwyn stayed where he was, rifling through the dry goods your group had on hand, likely trying to decide what sort-of-edible dish he'd be making for dinner, but he paused long enough to look up and ask, "What do you see, Jodi?"

"A figure." The demon grunted, shifting enough so that Fae could walk up to the window to get a look. As she did, the imp on her shoulder made a sudden noise of alarm and, with a flap of his wings, was out the door.

"I think he...knows who it is?" You say, slowly lifting your head from the table to frown after the imp. After another moment of staring out the window, Jodariel followed, expression thunderous as she ducked outside, Hedwyn on her heels. You looked from the door to Fae, who still stood at the window, and tried to judge whether or not it was worth it to get up. "Do you see anything, Fae?"

"Uhm?" The girl pressed her face to the glass, shifting from side to side, before exclaiming, "Oh! The minstrel, he's back, I think! I've never seen him awake before but, well, he's wearing the same clothes and that looks like the instrument from earlier! And, I mean, he has a very nice hat, and probably there aren't very many of that specific very nice hat in the Downside?"

You could hear Hedwyn's voice coming closer, along with another light male voice that you'd never heard before, and then in walked the now-awake-sleeping-pale-guy, imp in his arms, Hedwyn at his side and Jodariel on their tail. For the briefest moment, you could  _feel_ the pale man's eyes scan the wagon and then settle on you, almost luminescent in the dim of the wagon interior.

But then he closes he closes his eyes and gives a courtly bow.

"We have not been properly introduced, though I understand that you saw me while I rested." He stood upright from the bow. "You may call me Tariq."

The imp, still nestled contentedly in the minstrel's arms, chirps pointedly. 

"I agree, Ti'zo. Sandalwood should be quite pleased."

"Uh, hi." You nod in greeting to Tariq, then look to the imp who was apparently named Ti'zo. "Who's Sandalwood?"

"And  _where_ did you run off to?" Jodariel looms in the doorway, arms crossed in a way that told you she was actively trying to be intimidating. Which failed immensely, because Tariq didn't even look back at her.

"Sandalwood is my employer and the benefactor of this group. Once I awoke, I went to inform him that the Nightwings had returned." Though his eyes remained closed and he only turned his face fractionally away from you, you realize he's 'looking' at Hedwyn. "You have not told her?"

You wouldn't call the tone 'accusatory', per say, but the nomad still looks a little chastised. "There hasn't really been an opportunity." He said softly, before looking to you. "Sandalwood is the one who contacted me about the existence of the Rites, my friend. When I agreed to look into it, he told me where to find this wagon."

Once Fae has a chance to introduce herself and then immediately ask the minstrel if he knows how to play the instrument that is both strapped to his body and matches his outfit, Hedwyn directs the drive-imps to continue the course toward the Cairn of Ha'ub. The rest of the trip is filled with Fae's happy chatter, Ti'zo's chirps and squawks, and the gentle strumming of Tariq's lute.

Despite the insistent painful pulsing behind your eyes, you can't say you mind.


	4. Whittling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter today, or this evening or whatever time it is where you are when you read this. Loosey goosey tense shifts as always, and maybe a little bit of mooning over Jodariel. Just a teensy bit, by which I means lots of mooning over Jodariel and her big sweet heart.
> 
> If anyone is curious and wants to see what else I get up to, feel free to check out my tumblr; my username there is the same username I use here.

"Does Jodariel seem happier to you?" You ask quietly.

You're sitting with Hedwyn on the back platform of the wagon, helping him peel...something, from a nondescript burlap sack sitting between the two of you. A couple yards away is the woman in question, sitting on the sand with her back to the wagon. The way her shoulders and elbows move suggests she's doing something with her hands, but what that something is is beyond your ability to guess.

Much like the identity of whatever you're peeling, but you don't _even want to know,_ so focusing on Jodariel will have to do.

Sitting beside Jodariel is Fae, gesticulating wildly as she chatters and watches whatever the older woman is doing with wide eyes.

"...You can tell, my friend?" Hedwyn's surprise is audible, and when you glance at him he's half-peeled-whatever-it-is is in his lap.

"Uh, is it...hard?" You furrow your brow, because you'd asked because you'd thought you were imagining things, but what you were seeing was plain as day. He raises an eyebrow at you, expecting you to elaborate. "Like, there's...more? There's more Jodariel."

"You...think she's happy because she looks a little taller?" The nomad asks, furrowing his brow right back at you.

"What? No!" You gesture in the air, "More doesn't mean _taller_. That would be ridiculous."

Hedwyn smiles in such a way that gives you the impression that if anyone is being ridiculous here, it's you, and you huff indignantly at the suggestion.

"I mean," you mutter, "more, as in...more there? Present? Before it seemed like whenever I talked to Jodariel, she was only half there, and the other half was...somewhere else." You look away from him and back to the demon, who paused in what she's doing to give Fae's bouncy hair a gentle pat, eliciting a sun beam smile from the girl. "But since Fae, uh, 'found us'," you do exaggerated finger quotes as you say the last two words, "Jodariel seems fully present. Which makes me think she's happier, I guess?"

You'd managed to explain your thoughts, but hearing them aloud made you feel foolish, and you ducked your head to focus intently on peeling the whatever-it-was.

"I don't quite understand, my friend, but I _do_ agree." Hedwyn's voice is soft as he speaks, as if to a spooked animal, and  for some reason you find his kindness a little intimidating. Did he carry that inside him all the time? 

There's a sound of feet in the sand and you look up just as Fae makes it to the two of you, eyes bright and something clutched in both hands.

"Jodi made me a bird! I love birds, I told her how I used to watch them all the time, especially these little blue singing birds that were everywhere-"

"Bluekeets?" You supply, smiling as Fae laughs with delight.

"Yes, bluekeets! There were always so many and they were quiet friendly because I always had some kind of snack and they love snacks, but I guess everyone likes snacks?" She bounces from one foot to the other before opening her cupped hands with the flourish of parting stage curtains, revealing a small wooden bird. The body certainly resembles a bird, but the wings in particular are /excellently/ crafted, the detail of each feather and the bend of the wing suggesting mid-flight, or even the splay of wings a second before a dive.

For an instant, you feel an unpleasant buzzing sensation along your arm nearest Hedwyn, and absently shift as if to brush away a fly.

"It's quite lovely." The nomad murmurs, simultaneously sounding concerned yet wistful, which...is weird, because before you heard him speak you wouldn't have been able to describe what the sounded like, but now it seems obvious. You watch him rub a hand over his face and, once he pulls his hand away, he's smiling normally again. "Did you already thank Jodi for the gift?"

"Of course, I-" Fae starts then abruptly stops, frowning at her hands before looking back up and saying, more softly now, "should I say it again? I can, I'd be happy to thank her again, is that what I should-"

"Nooooo," you interrupt, trying to mirror Fae's serious expression and definitely failing, "once is probably enough." Your eyes flick up and over her shoulder, landing on Jodariel. The demon still sits with her back to the wagon, and for some reason it seems wrong for her to have nothing to do with her hands in that moment.

"I bet I know a way to show your thanks, that's even /better/ than saying it again and again." You lower your voice to a murmur and lean forward conspiratorially, which Fae mirrors, her puff of hair actually casting a shadow on your face. "Why not ask her to teach you how to whittle?"

Fae tilts her heard, eyes inquisitive but, from what you can tell, she doesn't quite get why that would make Jodariel happy. Nodding solemnly, you add, "Because if you ask her to teach you, it shows you value her skill so much that /you/ want to be able to do it to. I mean, that would make me happy, you know?"

The girl bobs her head for a moment, less a nod than excess energy, before springing upright and sprinting back to Jodariel. You look on, unexpectedly pleased, as Fae gestures with the bird figurine in the air between herself and Jodariel and, almost imperceptibly, the demon nods in assent. 

You even make a little surprised "Ah," when Fae then sprawls herself across Jodariel's shoulders like a cat, intent on what you can only assume is an immediate lesson.

It takes a moment before you realize you are smiling, and a few moment more before you notice that Hedwyn is staring at you with an immense force. "Uh," you mutter, floundering with the partially peeled whatever-it-is and paring knife you hold in either hand, resolutely staring down, "something on my face?"

The silence lingers for nearly a minute, heavy with /something/ that is just beyond your ability to interpret.

Then he chuckles, and the tension drains like water.

"I was just realizing that you have quite the heart, my friend."

Your face burns, and it must be intensely enough that even with your dark skin the change is visible, because he laughs again - louder, this time.

"OH MY, LOOK AT THE TIME." You definitely don't shout, setting (but mostly dropping) the partially peeled whatever-it-is and paring knife down beside you and clutching the railing to yank yourself to your feet.

_Foot. Foot and cane? Whatever!_

Hedwyn is _still laughing_ as you hobble back into the wagon interior, and only gains control of himself for a moment before you hear Rukey's voice - having apparently returned from gathering another burlap sack of whatever-they-were.

"What'd I miss?" 

The nomad immediately started laughing again. _ASS._

* * *

After the debacle with the whittling and the laughing and the whatever-they-were (which Hedwyn later turned into some kind of gritty, sour mash), you'd buried your nose in the Book of Rites and refused to come up for air for anything other than the most necessary distractions. You'd already pin pointed the location of the next Rite, a site known as the Pit of Milithe, and aside from reading the stars learning as much from the Book was your top priority so. The rest of the Nightwings left you alone.

Mostly.

"Reader."

You hum in acknowledgement but don't look up from your note taking. The Book of Rites is sitting open before you, the golden ink seeming to glimmer with life even as the pages lie still, and beside it you have three pieces of contraband considered nearly as heinous as books by the Commonwealth: a sheaf of papers, a quill, and a bottle of ink. All of these were provided by the minstrel within an hour of you mentioning that you wished you could take notes about what the Book of Rites revealed to you, and you weren't even going to bother asking the mystery music man where he'd procured them from. 

" **Reader**."

A broad palm comes into your field of vision, gently grasping your wrist to halt your writing. You blink slowly at the interrupting hand, then look up to find a pale splotch standing over you.

' _That's...weird.'_

Frowning, you lift your free hand and roughly rub it over your face, then blink rapidly to clear away the bleariness.

"Oh hi, Jodariel," the world was still a bit unclear beyond the demon and your mind is...foggy, thoughts sluggishly rising to the surface. "What's, uh. Something wrong?"

"You haven't moved from this spot for nearly 12 hours." She states, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"...Huh?" You look away from her to the nearest window and, sure enough, the sky is beginning to lighten to a gentle, dusty pink. The light you'd been writing by had apparently been provided by the Beyonder Crystal, which seemed to swirl inwardly as your eyes fell upon it.

"...Huh." Now that you think about it, it had been  _very_ quiet for quite a while, and the you can distinctly here the light snuffles and snores of the rest of the Nightwings sleeping.

Except, of course, for you and Jodariel. And Tariq, who has apparently been lightly strumming a tune on his lute for who knows how long. As you look at him you see his lips quirk into a tiny smile, but he doesn't look up to meet your gaze, nor does he pause his song.

"Did I...wake you, somehow?" You murmur, looking back to her then down to her hand on your hand. "I know the scratching of a quill on paper can be grating, I didn't-"

"Calm yourself," Her voice is firm but not unkind, "I have trouble sleeping. When I woke, I saw you here, where I'd last seen you yesterday." Her tone suggests that this is absolutely unacceptable, which makes you giggle a  _touch_ more manically than you intended. Also, her hand is very warm which makes you aware of how cold you are in comparison, and maybe you've been shivering this whole time, when had that started? You're vaguely aware that Jodariel is looking you over with something bordering displeasure, before she mutters "You need to sleep, if we're to have any chance of success at the Pit of Milithe." Her hand withdraws and you feel even colder - you're almost tired enough to reach for her, to try and stay her hand's retreat, but your fatigue keeps you from doing anything that would mortify you later.

"You're right..." You take a deep breath and make to stand - your muscles scream at the sudden movement, and you drop back to your seat, eyes squeezed shut as you mutter, "Nope, actually on second thought this is where I live now. Here, on this chair, in this room, such a nice room! I'm now one with this chair, I  _am_ this chair, this chair  _is_ me."

"You're delirious." Jodariel's voice says from somewhere above you, but you don't know where for sure because you're too busy slowly lowering your head to rest on the table, resigned to your fate.  _Here lives Reader, chair butt table face._

"No, uh. I'm actually very awake now, because I'm apparently very stuck and it really hurt, just now, to try and stand."

Jodariel's presence at your side is a tactile pressure, and you latch onto the sensation to distract from the stiffness.

"Stuck...to the chair?" She asks, audibly confused, and you huff a laugh.

"Not exactly." With painstaking slowness, you lift your face from the table to blink blearily up at her. "I'm just...stiff, I guess. I think I've always been kind of...stuck together with old gum and string, even before I lost my leg." Not that you remembered the details of the event, even now. "I feel like this is extra bad, though? I guess all this rigorous physical activity is catching up to me."

Of course, by 'rigorous physical activity', you meant hobbling around the wagon with your cane and occasionally sitting outside. Walking around with a cane and uneven terrain (such as desert sand and now bog land) just did not mix well. After a few moments of silence, you duck your head and sheepishly murmur, "Sorry for being so dramatic, I just-"

"Just. _Stop it_." You flinch at her tone and open your mouth to apologize again when you're suddenly  _drowning_ in shame; the current sweeps you up and drags you under, and for a minute you're so deep in it that you can't see light, _you have no idea which way is up_ \- "I'm sorry, I...didn't mean to snap." The words feel like your words but they don't come from your mouth, and just as suddenly as the shame washed over you, it recedes, and it's only then that you realize that that may not have been coming from you.

Stunned, your eyes go up to Jodariel's face to find her eyes closed and brow furrowed to form an expression you intuitively understand to be contrite. You have a thousand questions, most of which could be summarized as horrified, inarticulate internal screaming, but as you watch the other woman's eyes press more tightly closed, you decide that it can wait. 

Which is to say, you're way too fucking tired to decipher the sudden manifestation of  _maybe being an empath_ , so instead you focus on simple, immediate things. Namely Jodariel.

"It's ok, Jodariel." You say softly, aiming for 'soothing' but probably just achieving 'too tired to talk more loudly'. "We're both a little tired, I think." When she opens her eyes you smile at her. She doesn't smile back, but her brow relaxes a bit nonetheless. "Think you could help me get to bed?"

The blonde snorts, muttering "If you can't even walk, it'll be less like 'helping' you to bed, and more like carrying you."

Your face heats and something in your chest flutters, both of which you shove into the 'deal with later, maybe never' box, right next to maybe being an empath. "Ye-" Your voice cracks and you stop to make a show of clearing your throat, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Jodariel's arms curve under you and then lift you up. With the sudden sense of weightlessness and her encompassing warmth, you're asleep before she even reaches the stairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, not only did I find some more matches, but now we're starting to get into all the weird stuff that comes along with being a Reader in the downside. Crazy stuff!


	5. Keeping the Peace (Sorta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flagging Hands is the pits. Several pits. Lots and lots of SWAMP PITS.

It started with the arrival to Flaggings Hands. You'd woken from near catatonia to find that you'd missed the last leg of the trip, and the wagon was rolling with surprisingly steadiness through the bog lands that everyone had been dreading stepping foot in. And once you stuck your head out the door, you knew exactly why.

The atmosphere hung like a depressive miasma over the whole swamp, sink holes and pits of luminescent green dotting the landscape like pock marks.

The second thing you noticed upon waking was that everyone was a bit... _on edge_. Fae, looking a bit queasy, informed you that you'd missed no less than three arguments, two of which were between Jodariel and Rukey when their banter transformed to snipping so quickly the other's couldn't keep track of it. The other argument had apparently involved most everyone over the topic of whether or not to rouse you for this reason or another, which Jodariel apparently responded to so negatively that the others got defensive.

At least, that was the abbreviated version you'd managed to glean from what Fae said. 

"Are you...alright, Fae?" You asked, trying and failing to catch the girl's unfocused gaze.

"I don't...I don't like this place very much, I don't think." She pressed her hands to her temples, grimacing as she spoke, "It's harder to hear the scribes, they're still there and trying to speak but there's this...this other thing, this other voice, it hurts my head so badly..."

You're rubbing gentle circles against Fae's back when Jodariel steps into the wagon, and smile weakly at her. "It looks like I got the sleep I needed, but at the cost of everyone else's well being?"

The demon huffs something under her breath and shakes her head, coming to stand on Fae's other side. "We survived without you for years, Reader, a few hours isn't enough to send us over the edge." She eyes Fae, then looks at you.

"Fae," You murmur, "I think you should sit out this next Rite."

"What?" She straightens, eyes wide, "Have I done something wrong? I'm sorry about talking about the Scribes, I know I'm not supposed to, the others always hated it when I did Before-"

Alarmed by this sudden turn, you snatch one of her hands and hold it both of yours, "No no no, you haven't done anything wrong, Fae." You look over the girl's shoulder to catch Jodariel's eyes, beseeching, and the demon lays a broad hand against Fae's shoulders.

"This place is difficult for us all," she explains softly, "but it seems to be affecting you the most. We just want you to be well."

You sense Fae is soothed, if not fully convinced, and watch as she pulls away from the two of you to stagger to bed. From where you sit, you can see her pull the large blanket off of Jodariel's bed and, to your surprise, flop onto  _your_ bunk. Something tells you that she's seeking the comfort of your residual warmth, which reminds you of the whole  _maybe becoming an empath_ thing you'd decided not to think about yesterday.

To be honest, today wasn't look good either.

"...We should try to get out of here as soon as possible." You state, eyes still on the lump of blanket on your bed. Jodariel hums affirmatively.

To your surprise, the silence that settles over the two of you is...comfortable. Jodariel leans into the bunk area, grasps the door and gingerly pulls it most of the way closed, letting just a sliver of the light from the main room seep into the otherwise dark sleeping quarters.

Rukey bursts in with a theatrical wheeze, slumping against the door frame of the wagon's side entrance. "Uuuugh, I hate this place!" He exclaimed, before his eyes fell on you and he perked up considerably. "Good to see you up and about, sister!"

You feel Jodariel tense as he bursts in, presumably at his volume, but you're so elated to see the cur's smile that you can't even muster up the will to be annoyed with him - instead, you open your arms, grinning widely as he flings himself at you. He immediately starts chattering about something awful that happened when you were asleep, head firmly wedged under your chin, pausing only to confirm that yes, of  _course_ his head needs scratched,  _have you even been paying attention??_

Ti'zo swoops in with Tariq close behind, and you catch the tail end of some explanation about...imp flying mechanics (???), to which the minstrel appears to be nodding along with, as directly engaged with any topic or speaker as you'd ever seen. 

Hedwyn appeared in the door way last, but didn't actually step inside, and even from where you sat you could see the grimace on his face.

"Just a second, Rukey," You murmur to pause the cur's story, scratching under his chin in apology, "Hedwyn, are you alright?"

He perks slightly at your voice, and for a moment his grimace is replaced with half a smile. "I'm glad to see you are feeling better, my friend." But then the grimace returns, and he casts his eyes down. "I...I may need a new shoe."

"Huh?" You and Rukey say in unison, the cur pulling away just enough to look at Hedwyn. The others do the same, and you all see the lift and fall of Hedwyn's shoulders as he heaves an immensely heavy sigh.

"I stepped in one of the pits."

Jodariel moves with a swiftness that surprises you, crossing the wagon floor with three strides that carry her to and out the door, temporarily blocking Hedwyn from your view. You can't decipher the stiff murmur of her words, but you  _can_ feel the alarm buzzing around her head.

"Oh, no Jodi," you hear Hedwyn say, "not one of  _those_ pits, it just. Smells bad."

Relieved laugher bubbles out of Rukey as he slumps against you, and you're about to ask what had just happened when Jodariel whirled to glower at the cur which  _felt_ like she was glowering at you, considering how close you and Rukey were, and you blanch.

"Must _everything_ be a joke to you??" The demon accuses, and you feel Rukey look at you before responding, his hackles raising under your hand before he pulls away.

"It's only funny because he's  _fine_!" He shoots back, and you watch his shoulders tense before, in what you can only assume is a deliberate attempt to show how unruffled he is by the whole situation, he makes a show of stretching and yawning. "He said so himself, so why do  _you_ always have to get so upset about stuff?"

"It could have  **easily** not all been okay." She growls back, stepping back into the wagon - in a moment she's looming over Rukey, expression hidden from you by the curtain of her bangs. The cur bares his teeth and stares right back, in this instant apparently not caring that he's essentially looking  _straight up_ to hold the other woman's gaze. Somewhere beyond the barrier of Jodariel's form, you hear Hedwyn let out an exhausted sigh.

_Is this what they've been doing the whole time I was asleep? Finding things to fight about?_

"Ooookay," You say as you stand, still a bit stiff from yesterday but able to push yourself up none-the-less. With a firm grip on your cane, you hobble over as fast you're able to until you're standing beside the feuding pair. "I have no idea what that was all about, because all the pits look pretty unpleasant to me, but at least Hedwyn didn't step in one of the...worst pits?" From where you stand you can see the nomad again; he's sitting in the door way with his back to the wagon interior, leaning forward with legs dangling outside. Presumably taking off the shoe he'd soaked in bog water.

Neither cur nor demon have broken their stare down and, sighing, you stick your hand into the practically visible 'beam of aggression' shooting between them, drawing their eyes to you.

"Things got a little heated, but if we all just take a deep breath and talk-"

"You can't just talk away everyone's problems." Jodariel snaps, expression still heated but now turned fully on you and she  _is_ quite a bit taller than you, the anger in her tone overlaps with the frustration you can feel from her, and...

You don't mean to flinch, but you do. And everyone sees it.

Jodariel is gone before you can open your mouth to apologize,  _I'm sorry, I just got startled,_ her form brushing past Hedwyn just as he stands and moves to step inside, soaked fabric boot in one hand.

"Jodi-" He tries to snag her arm but she yanks away, and is gone.

"...'m sorry."

You start at Rukey's voice, and look down to find him sitting in the same spot, head low and ears back. "Just. Really gets me, when she acts like I don't...like I don't care."

You're own guilt is hard to see past, and it isn't immediately apparent why he's even apologizing. "What do you..."

"Jodi and me, we always rile each other up." He grumbles.

"The Flagging Hands is..." Tariq says from where he leans against the far wall, "trying, you could say."

Something about his tone implies that it is  _meant_ to be, rather than the bog just being difficult because it was naturally that way. If you were in a better mood and thought you'd get half an actual answer, you would ask him, but...

"Jodi went in the direction of the Pit of Milithe." Hedwyn says as he comes to join you, shoe in hand.  _It really **does** smell bad. _"She'd prefer us to meet her on the way, rather than wait for her to get impatient and come back." He says this mostly to you, setting a warm hand on your shoulder.

"R-Right. Of course." You lean heavily on your cane, eyes down as you pull away from his hand and hobble back towards your preferred seat at the center table. "Let's get going."

It's nearly an hour before the wagon comes upon Jodariel, and though you hear Hedwyn greet her, you don't rise to do the same, pretending to be absorbed in the Book of Rites. Well, only half pretending - you'd been hoping to find some mention of Readers becoming empaths in the downside, and the pages that actually had text on them were less than helpful.

Ti'zo and the minstrel greet her in their usual manner, but you don't hear Rukey's voice, and can only assume he's also busying himself with anything that gives him an excuse not to look up.

_Does this count as avoidance? This feels like avoidance._

You know Jodariel notices, the weight of her eyes on you for nearly a minute at one point, but she doesn't press, and you dive more fully into the Book.

* * *

"Are you afraid of me?"

You look up with a start, blinking away the reflective gleam of the Book's golden lettering, to see Jodariel leaning against the far wagon wall with her arms crossed. And...everyone else was gone.

"Huh?" You babble, rubbing a hand over your face as you set the book aside, not sure if you'd heard her right. "What'd you say, Jodariel?"

"Are you afraid of me?"

_'I really hoped I'd imagined that...'_

"No, I'm not afraid of you." You respond without really considering the question but, as the two of you stare at each other for nearly a full minute, you find that it's true - you think of being handed your cane, of Fae so ensconced in Jodariel's blanket that she's more a sphere with legs than a girl. You think of being carried to bed, and you're not afraid.

You tire of the expectant silence and lift hand, waving her over. As she obliges, you explain, "If this is about earlier, I didn't flinch because I was afraid of  _you_. I just..." Somewhere in your mind, you think you've seen too many arguments in the past, but you can't recall when or where. Before, most likely. "I don't like arguments. The intensity makes me queasy." She reaches you and you laugh self-deprecatingly, muttering "I'm not going to sit back and watch my friends fight, but I'm. I'm just not very brave, Jodariel."

The other woman says something under her breath that you don't quite catch, but you let it go, instead catching one of her broad hands in your two smaller ones. The physical affection from Rukey earlier had grounded you, and you find yourself hoping that this will have the same effect on you both.

Well, on Jodariel, because the second you touch her skin something akin to giddiness shoots straight up your arm, through your chest and down into your stomach.  _That_ was supposed to have stayed in the  _think about later, but maybe never_ box, dammit.

"Where'd everyone else get off to?" You ask when she continues not to speak, but she also hasn't pulled her hand away, so you don't feel particularly discouraged.

"We've arrived at the accursed Pit of Milithe," she says, finally looking away from you to frown toward the window. You follow her eyes, and see the edge of something sickly pale and massive, _was that an eye?_  "The sun is setting, so Hedwyn asked me to fetch you."

"Ah, of course." You release her hand and reach for your cane, then add "Why not check on Fae? It'll take me a minute to stretch my leg."

_Finally,_ you see the edge of her lips quirk into a familiar Jodariel smile, and you wave her toward the bunk area before getting on with your stretches.  _Disaster averted._

 

 


	6. In Which Everyone Goes Fishing (Except Hedwyn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The draft for this chapter was actually the second or third thing i wrote for this story before it was it's own thing, so it SHOULD have been a pretty straight forward copy paste, but I kept going back over it to rearrange things and make corrections and...YEAH. I knew if I didn't post it soon I'd spend another couple hours fussing over it, so here it is before I can change my mind again.

_'Do you mind if I hold the Beyonder Crystal in my lap for a bit?'_

You know that there are others within the orb, but they never heed your voice and you've grown accustomed to just thinking of it as 'Sandra'. Which she had very clearly disliked, so whenever you speak to her you're careful to refer to it only by it's proper name. Her consciousness rises to meet you, her image clear in your mind's eye - standing firmly on nothing, turning to smile at you with something you read as teasing amusement.  _Is that a thing?_

_'My lovely Reader,'_ she says, tilting her head toward you, _'are you flirting with me?'_

_'Oh, um.'_ With the others, your skin is a dark enough brown that a blush isn't obvious (unless you get exceptionally flustered), but Sandra can feel it - would be able to even if she hadn't been blind when she'd been imprisoned, and the fluttering in your chest and the heat in your face is as clear to her as it is to you. Which, of course, makes her grin more broadly. You (mentally?) clear your throat, and decide to try out the whole 'banter' thing she was so good at. _'You're very pretty, Sandra,'_ you say, which is more honesty than banter, _'but I'm actually worried about the crystal rolling off the table and crushing Hedwyn's face.'_

Any effect your comment may have had on her is quickly brushed aside as she takes in your words, snorting derisively. _'I have enough awareness to know that the waters aren't THAT choppy today, my lovely reader. Surely you don't have to worry about the crystal being launched into the air?'_

_'Well no, but Hedwyn is kind of sleeping under the table it usually rests on, and it IS choppy enough to maybe shift off it's cushion and roll off the table. You know, onto Hedwyn's face. And he needs that, probably.'_

_'...What?'_

"Reader..." Speaking (mentally) of the nomad, even in his sea sick state he had enough awareness to sense your focus. Holding the Beyond Crystal firmly against your chest with one arm, the other hand on your cane, you bent at the waist to peer down at his one slightly open eye.

"Was Tariq right, about it being better there?" Of course, the minstrel hadn't told Hedwyn to lay under the table; rather, he'd suggested that the nomad's sea sickness might be more bearable if he stayed near the center of the wagon, where the up and down of the waves would be less dramatic. Hedwyn had decided to go the extra mile and had just slumped into the spot that was approximately dead center of the wagon...hence, him laying half under the table.

"I can't tell yet," he grumbled, "but I'm not going to move from this spot until we're back on land, so best assume he was."

"As I've said," Tariq murmured, suddenly at your side and no you did NOT almost drop the Beyonder Crystal on Hedwyn, "I am not a doctor. I've only traveled with one."

The wagon treads through a spot of choppier water and rocks back and forth for a few seconds, eliciting a groan and a soft gurgle from Hedwyn, at which you and the Minstrel pointedly take a step away.

"Reader," Tariq says softly, gesturing toward the door, "Sir Gilman is ready to begin, if you are."

"What? Oh, right." You bob your head to Tariq and wish Hedwyn well before ducking outside. The newest member of your group, a wyrm knight called Sir Gilman, had woken a couple hours after his confrontation with his old triumverate and had immediately asked to be put to use - and, given that there was likely still a day's sailing to go and no guarantee that the supplies could be readily replenished wherever you landed, you'd suggested that he help fish. He'd shouted something about honor and needing only a moment to stretch before slithering outside. You'd been right behind him when you'd noticed the Beyonder Crystal swaying precariously on it's pillow, and...well, fussed for however long it took for the Minstrel to come looking for you.

You're eyes take a moment to adjust to the daylight, blinding in comparison to the inviting dim of the wagon interior, and then you spot Gilman on the deck, doing some kind of...wyrm aerobics? He sees you as you see him, and literally _leaps_  a few feet off the deck. "HONORED READER," he bellows, eye wide and practically sparkling, "I AM READY TO BE OF USE!!"

_'Too loud,'_ Sandra mutters in leu of a goodbye, and you feel her presence sink back into the Beyonder Crystal's core, beyond the reach of your senses. Jodariel and Rukey are on the deck as well, each attending a makeshift fishing pole that's more a line of twine with one end knotted around a piece of wood that looks too solid to snap off the vessel, the other end trailing in the water. Judging by their expressions and the lack of aquatic oddities floating in the bucket of sea water sitting between them, you gather that they haven't had much luck. Rukey is also kind enough to say as much, in case you weren't observant enough to pick up on it, but you don't begrudge him his complaining.

"Well, Sir Gilman, I was thinking we could work together, if that's-"

"A GOOD KNIGHT IS BEST WITH HIS COMRADES!!" The wyrm exclaims, and you find yourself wondering if he's always this excited or, more likely, if he's a little giddy from being free of the verbal abuse of his ex-commander. With that in mind, you pointedly ignore the sense of dread you feel whenever someone raises their voice at you, and smile. "That's good to hear," you say, speaking softly in hopes that he'd copy you, "I was thinking we'd do something like earlier, when you banished the storm?"

"WELL," he begins, only to apparently realize how loud he is compared to you, then clear his throat and continue, "I don't mean to doubt your methods, Honored Reader, but I am familiar enough with these waters to chase down fish!"

"I'm sure, but if we work together then you can focus on smacking them out of the water, and I can focus on where you aim." He hums, as if considering, but you get the distinct impression he has no idea what you're getting at, so you point at the bucket of sea water sitting between Jodariel and Rukey. "You chase down the fish and smack them out of the water, I help you aim for the bucket, we keep the fish alive so they don't rot on the way to land and once we're stationary and Hedwyn feels better, he can do...whatever it is he does to make eating in the Downside bearable."

"BRILLIANT!!" He exclaims, leaping off the deck several times for emphasis before arching right over the edge and plunging into the sea. Your senses follow him, easier than before now that you'd had a chance to have an extended, one-on-one conversation. The sea rushes past him, past you, and for an instant the deck of the wagon-ship is gone and you're being swallowed by the dim-

"Reader." Jodariel's voice brings your focus back, and you realize she's holding you up with a hand on either shoulder, frowning. You still don't feel COMPLETELY present in your own body, and have to glance down to make sure the Beyonder Crystal is still firmly in your grasp.

"Sorry," you look up at her, a little dazed, "I should have sat down first." Per your request, she helps you arrange yourself so that you're sitting with the bucket of ocean water between your legs - well, leg and thigh - and the moment your butt touches the deck you're away again. In the half minute it took for you to get situated, Sir Gilman has found several fish and is herding them toward the water's surface. The two of you practice 'snapping', as he calls it, launching fish out of the water at various angles until you get it down.

You're vaguely aware of several of these practice fish nearly striking you, only for the shadow of a hand to deftly smack them out of the air and into the bucket between your legs. At some point Ti'zo comes to investigate the splashing and, delighted, dives into the ocean as well. You keep tabs on him, but the activity is unexpectedly good practice for you and Gilman so you let the imp terrorize the ocean without guidance. From Gilman's perspective, Ti'zo doesn't go nearly as deep, but the wyrm admires the gusto with which he catapults himself in and out of the water.

There's a voice at your ear, something about the scribes and song, and then a weight settles against you. Fae, most likely - you can't draw back into yourself enough to verify, but it doesn't matter much. All the Nightwings were pretty affectionate, and.

_"Honorable Reader! Love for one's comrades is admirable, but one must not lose focus in the heat of battle!!"_ Gilman's interruption is gracious enough, and even as detached as you from yourself at the moment, you expect you're smiling.

It simultaneously feels like hours and only seconds, but eventually your awareness goes from being beneath beneath the waves and zig zagging around rock and sea weed to bobbing on the water's surface, looking at yourself. Noting the darking of the sky and Rukey's absence, you pull yourself back into...well, yourself, and open your own eyes.

_Depth perception sure is nice._

"You're back!" Says the puff of gray on your shoulder, and you smile sleepily. Wherever Rukey had gone, Fae had clearly taken his place - if not to watch the line for signs of a catch, but rather to keep you company.

"I didn't go too far, Fae." Then, you slowly lift a stiff arm and gesture Gilman to return to the wagon-boat, and once he's close enough you ask, "Tired?"

"Quite the work out, indeed!" His tone is as boisterous as ever, but it obviously take a bit of effort to hop onto the deck after several hours of hunting, and the second he's on board he slumps onto the deck and wheezes a few times. "And," he adds, once he's caught his breath, "an excellent display of your skills, Honored Reader! It becomes more and more apparent with each passing moment that joining you and your fellows was the best decision I've made in the Downside!"

"I'm glad to hear it." You stifle a yawn and glance down at the bucket of sea water between your legs. "...Huh," you frown at the shapes darting to and fro in the bucket, "I thought we caught more than this..."

"You did. We didn't know when you'd stop, so we kept getting you more buckets."

You look up from the bucket to Jodariel, who's still beside you, and on her other side are four other buckets. "Uh," you look from the buckets, to her, then back to the buckets, then back to her, before hazarding a quick, "my bad?" To your surprise (and private elation), her lips quirk into what approximates a Jodariel Smile.

"We'll be eating fish for the foreseeable future, but guaranteed, if repetitive, meals is nothing to take lightly." A little over come, you glance over your shoulder to Sir Gilman, fully expecting him to be brimming with pride at the praise, but the wyrm appears to be soundly asleep, coiled and snoring right there in the middle of the deck.

"What is it with Nightwings and sleeping on the floor?" You ask, unsurprised that Jodariel's only answer is a vaguely disapproving snort.

"Technically," Fae muses, "everything is floor is you're wearing shoes, right?"

You squint at the haze of her hair. "Is that why you don't wear shoes?"

"Of course not! I don't wear shoes because they make it harder to hear the scribes. They're so loud in the downside, very present in all the corners, but their voices are clearest when I walk directly in their foot prints."

It doesn't make much sense to you, but neither do most things in the Downside. Like, in the Commonwealth, being called a 'reader' was akin to a politically charged slur, something you'd only fling at your foulest enemy - because there was no knowing who might be listening, what important ear such an accusation might reach. But in the Downside, being called a 'Reader' was like being told you had the only lantern in a world of darkness.

_Okay, getting a little sentimental. Reel it in..._

Your eyes are drawn to Jodariel as she stands, and you watch for a minute in silence as she secures the buckets to the deck as well as she can. "Where'd Rukey run off to?" The demon gestures toward the wagon interior, muttering something about the cur getting bored and going to check on Hedwyn. Then she bends over you, and you watch, stunned, as her braid ALMOST brushes your face - but then the bucket you'd had between your legs is in her hands and she's gone again, securing it like she had the others.

When she turns back to you, _you_ turn to Fae, trusting the girl not to mind if you're not entirely composed. Gingerly lifting the Beyonder Crystal up, you ask "Would you take Sa-uh, the Beyonder Crystal, inside for me?" She nods and stands before accepting the crystal and vanishing into the wagon interior. You distinctly hear her say something to Hedwyn, and can only assume that the resulting grumble is the only response he can manage.

"She's fond of you, Reader." Jodariel says after a few seconds, and something warm blooms in your chest as you think that it might be the kindest compliment you've ever received.

' _Stop that.'_ you silently chide yourself, pressing a hand firmly against your breast bone as if to smother a flame. The other woman notices, of course, and she's abruptly leaning close.

"You've over extended yourself." She says, not even bothering to hide her assertion behind a questioning tone, and you happily fling yourself upon the merciful excuse. Did it count as an excuse when you actually were a bit light headed?

"Nothing gets past you, huh?" You laugh, trying to make light. Jodariel narrows her eyes at your affected chipper-ness, but rather than be intimidated, seeing the expression close up for the first time alerts you to something of immense import.

_Jodariel has a dimple._ Her smiles are too subdued for it to appear, but the firm way she sets her jaw when she's displeased...it's right there on her chin, and you absolutely stare ate it for a second too long.

"Uh!" You blink rapidly and lean away, forcing yourself to look down. "I'm sorry, what, uh, what did you say?"

The woman sighs heavily, close enough that her exhale rustles the hair around your face. "There's a storm coming, and you need to sustenance before you succumb to some manner of sun madness." When she pulls away you're simultaneously relieved and disappointed. "Are you well enough to stand?"

"Well enough to TRY, at least." Leaving your cane on the deck for the moment, you grasp the railing for support, then gingerly tug yourself up. As usual, your body is less than pleased about the whole damn _moving about_ business, but you manage all the same.

You've just managed to get your foot beneath you, and take one hand off the railing to reach for where your cane is laying when a particularly aggressive wave strikes the hull. The deck bucks you up and, too stunned to cry out, you pitch forward. For an unbearably slow second, you're suspended above the murky ocean waters, and you realize you have no idea what it looks like under water with depth perception. Nor, you realize, do you have any idea what it feels like to be submerged as a human with only three undamaged limbs, as opposed to a wyrm. Would the shadows and shapes that Sir Gilman paid no mind seem as unassuming to you?

Just as suddenly as you'd pitched forward, you're yanked up and back, over the deck and into the wagon interior. You more hear than see Rukey brush past you to rouse Gilman and usher him inside, and a distant rumble alerts you that the wagon-ship will be sailing through a storm for the night.

" **Reader.** " Jodriel's voice vibrates against your cheek. You blink owlishly as your mind struggles with what that means, until you realize your foot is dangling a little bit off the ground.

_'Oh,'_ you think, as if this whole situate was old hat by now, ' _my face is against Jodariel's chest.'_ Or breast plate, to be more precise. You can only assume that she'd snatched you out of the air before you could fall into the ocean. A deduction supported by the fact that, even with both arms around you, she still has a fistful of your cloak clutched in each hand. More importantly, she sounded and felt distinctly _upset_.

"Sorry, I-" you say, only for Jodariel to cut in, 

"I'm not angry, just." The demon pauses to take a deep, steadying breath. "Just...be more careful." You chance a look up at her, and she's already looking at you, expression deeply displeased. She's also, ah, VERY close - the dimple is back to haunt you -  because as you already realized she's holding you in the air and against her: _it's essentially a hug._

"Yeah, really!" Rukey breaks in, pulling you from your momentary trance, "We've only got one Reader, and we can't do the rites without ya, you know!" He's walking in swift circles around Jodariel's legs. With something that  _might_ have been reluctance but surely wasn't, the woman sets you down, but keeps a hand wrapped around your upper arm to keep you upright. You stretch out your other hand for Rukey to bump against.

"Ah, there's, um," Fae babbles from one of the windows facing the bit of deck you'd just been on, "there's a problem, maybe? You're safe Reader and that's what most important, of course, but the problem is also important and you might be upset?"

"What is it?" Jodariel asks, her voice thrumming against your cheek again before she sets you down on your usualy seat at the center table. You tuck your foot under Hedwyn's leg without really twhinking about it, and hear him either chuckle or grumble. Probably the former. Hopefully.

" _Well,_ you see, I think the Reader's cane is. Gone." 

Jodariel joins Fae at the window, and the two peer out into the increasingly stormy night for a few seconds in silence before the demon hisses a soft expletive.

"I'm bet ol' Ron could find us another one," Rukey suggests, while rolling a once-again-napping Sir Gilman toward the bunk area.

You imagine owing Ron a favor, or having to sit there and listen to his chattering until he remembered he had eighteen different walking sticks somewhere in the void of his supplies, and seriously consider using hopping as your primary mode of transportation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL HAIL THE CHIN DIMPLE. Sorry peeps dimples are super cute, I don't make the rules.


	7. Knights and Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fae is your hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so I'm a dirty liar because I said in comments and such that this chapter was supposed to be about Pamitha finally joining the Nightwings, but I'm still going over that part of the draft and it's no where near done so.
> 
> Have some goofiness and pining instead??

"I mean if you guys want to place a special order, Dad and I will find whatever you need because you're our very special-"

You blanch as Jodariel physically reaches out her hand and envelops the top of Falcon Ron's head in one palm. She's the only member of your group tall enough to be able to reach to him and, for whatever reason, the red behemoth Ron referred to as his father made no move to intervene.

After a few seconds of squinting at the man (slug man?) you realize he's soundly asleep.  _While standing._ Of all of the denizens of the Downside, Falcon Ron and his father are by far the most unsettling to be around.

"We did not ask if you could _find_ a walking stick." Jodariel says with gruff impatience. "We asked if you  _had_ something suitable in your inventory. At this  **very moment.** " The little green man opens his mouth to respond, and the demon grunts "To be clear, you are being asked a yes or no question." She leaned in, frowning. "So those are the only words I want to hear. No others. I don't want an explanation, or an excuse, or a sales pitch."

Then she retracts her hand, and you watch her overtly wipe her palm on her trouser leg without breaking eye contact with Ron.

_Does this count as a hustle? Or scare tactics?_

Ron is a noticeably lighter shade of green, and you  _almost_ feel bad for him. But then you remember that Hedwyn had been trying to get a straight answer out of the little slug man (slug goblin?) for nearly twenty minutes before Jodariel got impatient and stepped in, and the almost-pity fizzles out.

"...Yes?" Ron hazards. Jodariel nods, and asks to see it so a price could be discussed. Which is when Ron does something you have never seen him do - something you don't think any of the Nightwings have seen him do, judging by the collective but varying noises of surprise.

_He stands._

As if there wasn't a running bet between Rukey and Hedwyn that Falcon Ron was actually a tumor that his 'father' had developed and that the Downside had unfortunately made sentient, the little slug goblin stood, right there on the red behemoth's head, before turning and walking toward the massive rucksack strapped to his father's pack.

Holding what sounded like a one-sided conversation under his breath, Ron flung the rucksack open and dove into it face first, legs kicking comically in the air as he dug through the contents - after a few kicks, the only sandal he wore flew off his foot, and landed on his father's head with an audible _fwap_. The red giant didn't even stir.

A muffled "Ah!" sounded inside the bag before Falcon Ron pulled himself upright and yanked a crutch out with him.

_YES!!_

"Yeah, see, I knew my dad and me found something like this a while ago, plenty of stuff washes down that's supposed to be for veteran's and stuff, but I wasn't sure if we kept it or if we burned it because, you know, sometimes you just gotta burn stuff-" 

"How much?"

Ron flops back onto his father's head, making several contemplative noises while yanking his sandal back on. "Uh, I'm thinking..." his eyes settle on you, sitting in the doorway of the wagon, and he grins broadly. "100 sol?"

_...Dammit._

A stunned silence falls over your group. You can  _feel_ the other's doing mental math - to begin with, you guys only had 70 sol in the ol' coffers, which is to say in that one bag that Jodariel carries because she's the most responsible and the hardest to sneak up on, and 30 of it was already being put toward paying for all the salt Hedwyn predicted would be necessary to preserve the still-alive-fish swimming around in the buckets of ocean water inside the wagon. It might be possible to talk Ron down to selling the crutch for all the sol the Nightwings had, but...

You open your mouth to say that you can manage with hopping for a bit longer, when another voice speaks up first.

"You're being very cruel!" Fae accused as she slid past you and out of the wagon, "Charging so much for something you just  _found!"_

The other Nightwings join in your dumb founded staring - except Jodariel, who looks  _as pleased as you've ever seen her look -_ as Fae marches right up to the two proprietors of the Slugmarket before, with only a moment's pause,  **climbing Ron's dad.**

"If you have something," she grunts, hanging off the red slug man's arm, "that you don't need but someone else does," she says, both fists tangled in slug-man-beard, "then how  _dare_ you demand so much for it!!"

Ron, seemingly as alarmed by Fae climbing his dad as the rest of you were at the sight of him standing, squeals and scrambles backward until his back hits the rucksack; failing to drag the crutch back with him. When Fae pulls herself onto Ron's dad's head, she snatches it up and brandishes it at him like a club.

"I-It's business! Just makes sense, you know-" Falcon Ron stammers, while simultaneously slapping a panicked staccato against his father's shoulder, "supply and demand, like my dad taught me, you need it real bad, we've got one, so-"

"So the people who need a thing most have to pay the most for it??" Fae snaps, waving the crutch at him in a way you can only assume is meant to be menacing. "You should be ashamed! The Scribes would be ashamed of you, and your actions and - OH," she pauses, lowering the crutch slightly as she glances back to the rest of the Nightwings, eyebrows vanishing into the gray haze of her hair, "I actually think that, maybe, I'm the one that's mad? This is mad, right? How anger feels and looks?"

Jodariel is the only one able to offer an immediate response in the form of a firm nod.

"Huh." The pale girl looks back at Ron, tilting her head. "I don't think that I've, really, ever been mad? Why be angry when the Scribes offer such good advice and direction, and..." she trails off and, for an instant, everything is still. Then she brandishes the crutch at Falcon Ron and chides, with renewed vigor, " _I_ am ashamed of you, Ron! You've tried to do a very, very cruel thing, and the Scribes wouldn't allow it so we won't allow it, you." She falters, waving the crutch at him while she thinks. "You...You  **jerk**!!"

To your surprise, Falcon Ron has enough guts (or a very poor sense of self preservation, which is more likely) to mutter a quick, "Well, I mean, I guess, but if you want it you gotta...gotta buy it, so how much are you-"

"We will give you _80_ -" Fae begins, which Hedwyn interrupts by audibly coughing  _'70'._ "Uh, I mean,  _70_ , 70 sol is what I meant, for this crutch!"

Again, Hedwyn audibly coughs  _'and the salt'_ , and Fae hurriedly says "We will give you  _70_ sol for this crutch  _and the salt_! That's what I meant to say, you see, and that's what I just said so that's my offer and. Yes!"

You have never seen an image more heroic than the image of Fae standing on a red slug-man's head while threatening a green slug-goblin with a crutch. 

* * *

An hour later, you're watching Hedwyn lead the rest of the Nightwings in a group activity he referred to as, ' _All of you are going to be eating these fish, so all of you are going to help salt and preserve them, or I'll be at it for hours so sit down and help me already!!'_ , from which you'd been excused only because you wanted to practice walking with your new crutch. Which you loved.

How had you never taken a moment to think,  _man, having blisters on the palm of the hand I grasp my cane with really sucks! I sure wish there was another part of my body, say, my **armpit** , that might be better suited for essentially supporting all of my weight when I walk around!_

Ok, that wasn't true. You'd totally thought that, but who could have guessed you would get your hands on a  _crutch??_ The last hour had been like every holiday combined, because you could actually walk and it only  _sort of_ hurt.

"Reader," Jodariel says, not looking up from the fish she's meticulously salting, "you're going to tire yourself out. Sit down."

"I can sit when I'm  _dead._ " You shoot back, grinning a grin that only broadens as the other woman looks up at you with an exceptionally alarmed expression. "You see, my  _favorite person ever_ valiantly fought a goblin so that I could have this crutch, so I'm going to hobble around  _at the speed of sound_ until I pass out."

Jodariel says "You absolutely will  **not** ," at the same moment you look at Fae and ask, "By the way, how are you feeling?"

The pale girl is sitting a few feet away from others, having also been excused from the group activity because no one wanted her to touch the food with her slug-goblin tainted hands, so instead she's got her arms submerged almost to her shoulders in a bucket of fresh(er) salt water. 

"Better, I think," She says with a bright smile, "something in the red one's beard bit me, maybe, I think? I don't know what and don't ever ever want to know, but also his skin was kind of clammy and I almost can't smell it on me anymore."

You frown. "Uh, almost can't smell what?"

"The slime smell." She says matter of factly.

You decide, with very little thought, that you absolutely do not need to know.

* * *

"So," Jodariel says, standing beside your bed with what is maybe an  _inappropriate_ amount of amusement in her voice, "is there anything you'd like to say?"

You'd insisted on practicing with your crutch for several hours straight; practice which included walking with the Book of Rites, walking with the Beyonder Crystal, and walking with the Book of Rites and the Beyonder Crystal at the same time. 

And of course, when you'd woken up the following morning, you couldn't move your leg or either of your arms. You _could_ move your leg that ended above the knee but, as if in solidarity with your other limbs, it had swollen.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you," you groan, grimacing in a way that is both theatrical yet completely sincere, "when you said that I should rest. I was wrong."

The other woman hums expectantly and, after a few reluctant seconds, you mutter "I was super wrong and you were super right, you're the most logical person on the team. And we should all listen to you more." It's something that you'd heard Rukey have to say several times, mostly after he'd run head long into something that Jodariel had to immediately drag his ass out of. 

It was much funnier when  _you_ weren't the one having to say it.

"I'm glad you've come to your senses." Jodariel says soberly, but if you squint at her face you can  _definitely_ see a tiny quirk to her lips, and if she wasn't so cute you'd hate her for it.

It's only once she's fussed over your blankets, moved your crutch around to try and find the most accessible place to put it, brought you a canteen of water and gone to check on everyone else that you decide to really think about the thoughts you've been having.

About her.

Because clearly things weren't satisfied with staying in the  _think about later, but maybe never_ chest that you pretended you had, and without the distraction of the others, you had nothing to entertain yourself except for thinking about things you didn't want to think about.

So. Feelings?

It wasn't difficult to see  _why_ you reacted the way you did in Jodariel's presence; she was kind and warm without being over bearing. She was powerful, but gentle. And, uh, she was...tall.  _Yeah, that was a word for it._

You couldn't even fathom  _telling_ her, of course. What would you even say? 'Hi jodariel', you might open, having arranged yourself at the center table after a fully restful night and without ink stains on your fingers, 'you're looking ravishing, as always. We could, maybe, smooch?' You immediately imagine her turning and walking out of the cabin because, uh, who wouldn't??

' _Scribes,'_ you think, staring at the underside of the bunk above yours,  _'I've got a crush on a woman that I can't even muster up the courage to refer to by her nickname.'_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I too heavy handed with setting the future political tone of this fic with that falcon Ron scene?? Could you tell what real world person I was maybe alluding to??
> 
> Plz leave your guesses in the comments thnx
> 
> Also did anyone notice that the Reader never refers to Jodariel, verbally or mentally, by Jodi? I mean she wasn't supposed to have, if she did in an earlier chapter plz let me know because that needs to get corrected ASAP.


	8. Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have your first conversation with a Harp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one today, because I wanted Pamitha to get her own chapter like most of the other Nightwings did, before the team meets up with Sandalwood and I start delving into some of the over arching plot stuff.
> 
> Also I had my first class of the semester this evening and uuuuugh i don't remember anything about Spanish!!!!

You don't think you'd ever seen a Harp in your life Before - not surprising, given your suspicion that you'd lost the lower part of your leg early in life, and the Commonwealth wasn't desperate enough (yet) to send the physically disabled into battle in the unending war against the Highwing Remnants. This realization had come to you when Hedwyn had asked you for your opinion of the Harp - Pamitha - that had offered to help you in the Rite against her blood-sister, Tamitha.

_Which definitely wasn't going to get confusing, oh no, of course not._

Pamitha immediately picked up on the fact that you were a Reader and, apparently more than happy to bare your scrutiny, she struck a pose and patiently awaited your verdict.

There were two problems with the situation. One, her wings were very distracting. Two,  _she_ was very distracting. Because she was beautiful.

Tamitha had been as well, though it'd been difficult to get caught up in it when she was regaling the Nightwings of her less than peaceful intentions should she be freed from exile. Whereas Pamitha invited you to take your time with a smile and a flutter of feathers, and...

_'Scribes forgive me, I'm too gay for this shit.'_

You'd ducked your head and murmured something to Hedwyn about her apparent earnestness, and by the time you cleared your head it was time for the Rite. 

* * *

The others typically don't ask much of you right after a Rite, beyond interpreting what destination the stars pointed to next. It's not that you pass out or anything, but you feel...hollowed out. As if to conduct the Rite, you have to take pieces of yourself  _out_ to make room for the thoughts of the others. You always got those pieces back in the right place (you think?) but while you're putting yourself back together the other's give you space.

So when a shadow falls over you and you hear the voice of the newest member of the Nightwings, it doesn't even occur to you that she might be trying to get your attention - because you're too busy staring blankly at the table top, organizing your thoughts with the meticulous slowness one might employ when constructing a model ship, as opposed to when using one's own brain.

"Darling?" Says that wing that brushes your arm. You frown at the appendage for what must have been several minutes before your brain goes,  _oh, wings don't talk,_ and you look up at the person and face that the wing is attached to.

"There you are." Pamitha says, smiling bemusedly down at you. "You looked to be a thousand miles away. Feeling alright?"

"...Reading is...hard." You manage, furrowing your brow at yourself as you say _dumb words_ but being unable to stop yourself. Having someone try to interact with you right now felt like an invasion of privacy, but...you were kind of sitting at the table in the center of the wagon, which was the essential wagon community space. You also couldn't quite muster up the energy to be annoyed, because a very pretty woman was talking to you and the most complex reaction your mind could come up with at present was 'yay'.

Frustrated, you vigorously rub your face with both hands, trying to banish the mental cobwebs - with surprising success. 

"Sorry, uh."  _Get a grip!!_ "I'm...mush, right after a Rite." After a few seconds enough of your wits have returned that you realize that the rest of the Nightwings are out and about, probably doing their usual 'give the Reader some space' chores; foraging, scouting ahead, et cetera.

"No need to apologize on my account, darling." The Harp assures you, still smiling in a way that looks both earnest yet effortless. 

"How do you do that?" You ask, squinting directly at her lips. Later, a more cognizant you would look back at this conversation with horror, but the current not-fully-cognizant you doesn't have enough energy to filter what you say or enough energy to care about consequences.

"Do what?" The other woman asked, quizzical but unruffled.

"The...the smile thing." You mutter, actually pointing at her face. "Like everything is fine and you haven't just joined up with a bunch of strangers that are varying levels of surly."

A half-second of laughter slips past her lips before she presses them closed, eyes just a fraction wider, and you get the sense that she just surprised herself more than you ever could. You squint at her more in the ensuing silence, as if trying to decipher a masterfully constructed puzzle, and she regards you in kind. Well, she doesn't look at you like  _you're_ a puzzle, but more like she finds you a bit odd. Which you get, because you certainly feel odd, but as the silence continues you have a harder time remembering  _why._

"Habit, I suppose." Pamitha muses long after you've forgotten what you'd said to prompt that answer, but you nod sagely regardless. "I actually came over to thank you for the vote of confidence earlier."

You squint at her again.

"Right before the Rite?" she adds, tilting her head at the apparent confusion dancing about your face.

"Oh, when you stood there being pretty?" You say with your  _stupid, traitorous mouth_ , because even as addled as you are you have enough sense to regret saying something  _that_ ridiculously overt, if not enough sense to  _stop yourself from saying it._

_'Trying to charm your newest charge, my lovely Reader?'_ Sandra says without fully rising from the Beyonder Crystal's murk, apparently able to reach you even without direct physical contact.  _'I must admit, I'm impressed...'_

You only have a few seconds to contemplate being mortified before Pamitha responds.

"Darling, you'll have to be more specific."

You're staring at the table top but you can hear the smile in her voice and  _oh no,_ you'd flirted with Pamitha and you didn't have enough experience to tell whether or not she was flirting back or just responding calmly to being hit on by a total stranger suffering from temporary mush-brain.

"All...the time?" You croak before you can stop yourself. 

This time, Pamitha lets herself laugh, eyes and smile bright and intent as she looks at you.

"Darling, you may be right about your fellows being," she paused, perhaps to recall your phrasing, "varying levels of surly, as you put it, but I think that  _you_ and  _I_ will get along just fine."

And then the Harp was gone, leaving you to untangle yourself from a single, insistent thought.

_Did I just do a flirt??_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wrote this while pretty tired and out of it, which would usually make me want to save what I've written to look over tomorrow to make it hopefully less bad but since mental fatigue is something the Reader deals with post-Rite, it seemed fitting??? anyway goodnight zzzzzzzzzzz


	9. You Think He's Kind of a Jerk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually the first I wrote when trying to decide if I wanted to start a Pyre fanfic, and going back over it I definitely had to move things around to fit the narrative as it is now. If you see anything that looks, like...WEIRD, I dunno, let me know??

Most of the group is too abuzz about finally meeting the group's benefactor face to face to waste energy being wary of Pamitha - aside from Tariq and Ti'zo, both of whom had immediately accepted the Harp and apparently thought of the infamous Sandalwood as an old friend, and Jodariel, who was suspicious enough of Pamitha's every breath for everyone.

And also appeared to be quite cross with Sandalwood for the part he played in there being a place for the Harp to occupy with the group to begin with.

Once you'd fully regained yourself after the Rite and the... _enlightening_ conversation with Pamitha, you'd been trying to find a moment alone with the demon so you could ask if she was going to be ok. She'd spoken little of her time at the Bloodborder, but what you'd managed to glean combined with what you already knew of the endless war left you...concerned. War was awful for everyone involved, and it was apparent that Jodariel was the sort to take on everyone's burdens without sharing any of her own.

However, it had proved nigh impossible to get Jodariel to  _stay still_ , let alone get her alone for a private conversation - as if keeping herself busy was the only way she could keep herself from thinking about Pamitha's presence. You suspect that that's also the reason why the demon doesn't eat with the rest of the group, opting instead to scout ahead when the wagon rolled to a stop for the evening.

You feel bad for thinking it, but...the energy was a lot more relaxed, once the blonde woman vanished into the night; the others stopped worrying about Jodariel being upset about Pamitha, and Pamitha stopped using up so much energy pretending she didn't notice.

"So," the Harp said after a few bites of dinner, salted fish mixed with left-over sour mash, "who is this mysterious figure we're racing to meet?"

A few thoughtful noises floated about the group, sitting on the ground in a haphazard circle just outside the wagon. Fae said something along the lines of 'a person with a face, probably?', which Sir Gilman responded to with a vague guess about the figure's metaphorical position as the group's 'superior officer'.

"Sandalwood is the one who got us started as a triumverate." Hedwyn stated, with a tone you interpreted as ' _have none of you been paying attention?'_ "When I started looking into rumors of the Rite's being more than myth, he got word to me about how to get started."

"And...that's it?" Pamitha asked, quirking a brow. "How philanthropic of him."

Hedwyn laughed softly and shook his head. "While i can't say I know much of his character, I have the distinct impression that the Nightwings serve some purpose to him. He just hasn't seen fit to tell us how, or why." After some thoughtful chewing and a forceful swallow, the nomad gestured to Tariq with his spoon and said, "The Minstrel knows more of it, but he hasn't volunteered much."

Tariq dipped his head in a partial yet gracious bow. "My employer wishes to speak to you directly on such matters."

The explanation was much the same as the sparse others the pale man had provided on the journey - more of a verbal shrug than an actual divulgence of information, but it would be useless to press for more. Pamitha stands, and you half expect her to turn in for the evening, but instead she carries her bowl over to sit beside you.

"And you, darling?" She asked, smiling lightly, "do you have anything to add?"

"I mean," you push your spoon through the viscous remains of your dinner, "I don't know anything you haven't already heard."

"No opinions about the stranger?" She cocked her head in a way so reminiscent of a common bird you can only assume it's purposeful. "No intuitions or insights?"

It's...weird, to have someone ask for your feelings about a person you've never met, but it's not in your nature to lie by suggesting that you don't have any opinions on the matter.

"I guess if I were to...well,  _guess_ ," you concede after a minute of consideration, "I'm inclined to be wary of anyone that expects others to follow their direction blindly."

"Oh? So it's only beautiful Harp's that you're inclined to trust from the start?"

You choke on your own spit.

* * *

 

Hedwyn finds you sprawled out on your back amongst the roots of the Glade of Lu's signature giant tree, the grass almost tall enough to swallow you.

"Reader?" He calls from a few yards away, a note of alarm in his voice, which you wave away with a lazy motion of your hand in the air above you. His exhale could almost be categorized as a sigh, if Hedwyn were the type to sigh at anything other than the difficulties of being the appointed Nightwing chef. As he strides closer, you try to look relaxed. Like...Lounging? You feel as if you've never had the luxury of perfecting the art of 'lounging', and as far as you can gather it was just fancy laying about.

"My friend," the nomad says as he comes to stand over you, "are you planning to sleep out here?"

You squinted up at him, silhouetted as he was against the pink glow of the flowering tree canopy above, and tried to think of a way to simultaneously deny that you'd considered sleeping outside, but that you also had no intention of sleeping in the same wagon as Volfred Sandalwood. The Sap had insinuated you could be paid off after all of your travel and struggle, and that you cared so little for your fellow Nightwings that you'd be cast aside without a fuss...all in the same breath. And you'd only been able to stand there, dumbstruck, until Hedwyn spoke up.

"...Are you asking because you think the trees will drag me away in the night?" You don't need to Read him to know that you're both thinking of the recently won rite against the Chastity, and the silence between you is answer enough. "Well luckily for me, I wasn't actually planning to sleep out here," you grumble, "at least not so far from the wagon." You lift both hands to gesture at the tree. "I'm just here to admire the tree. And the calcified Titan Corpse," he snorts, at which you add "because, you know, at least everyone we face in the Rites is generally around our size. Gotta appreciate the silver linings." You sense he doesn't buy your ramblings, but he's too kind to press you for what's really wrong. Then again, it's more than obvious...and, you muse as he finally sits on the grass beside you, you aren't the only one suddenly feeling unwelcome in the wagon.

"I thought you might have come to seek guidance from the stars," Hedwyn said, "though now that I'm beside you it's obvious that the tree takes up most of the sky from this spot."

"I _did_ seek guidance, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," you muttered, "and the I felt a bit judged by the stars. And the Scribes. And..." The conversation is suddenly far closer to the crux of the issue than you're comfortable with, so you hurriedly add "So here I am, looking at the tree." It feels like Hedwyn is deciding whether or not to take your statement literally - the part about being mocked by the stars and scribes, you think, but it's still hard to get a clear Read when you aren't actually looking at the person.

Rather than press you for clarification, he asks "What did you ask?"

"Huh?" _Eloquent, as always._

"You said you sought guidance," he clarified, the smile audible in his voice, "but I doubt the stars would mock you for verifying our next destination. So...what did you ask?"

You hum in a way you hope sounds thoughtful to buy yourself some time. To be honest, you'd asked a lot of things, but most of it was a little too intimate, i.e. self disdainful, to share right now. You don't want to lie, not to someone who insisted they were your friend and acted the part flawlessly, so after some deliberation you settle on a question to share.

"How do I ask Jodariel permission to call her Jodi?"

There's a moment of silence, during which you think he's giving serious thought to your question, but then you realize Hedwyn is making some kind of wheezing sound and, upon lolling your head to the side and squinting at him, you realize he is trembling with the effort to contain his laughter. You huff in frustration, which only opens the floodgates; by which you mean he laughs so hard he can't keep himself upright, instead slumping forward, head vanishing briefly into the tall grass.

He regains himself with a series of coughs and half-wheezed apologies, which you resolutely ignore.

"My friend," he finally says, grinning broadly when he manages to catch your eye, "you've more than earned the chance to call Jodi...well, Jodi. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"But what if she does?" You frown, which only makes him grin more, much to your simultaneous chagrin and appreciation. This whole 'friendship' thing never ceased to surprise.

"Then she'll say so," he says with a tilt of his head, "you know as well as I that she isn't one to stay quiet about what she disagrees with." Your mind immediately provides one such scenario; Jodariel fixing you with a cold look and firmly stating that you are not welcome to refer to her by a nickname, and how **dare** you be so forward? Your stomach churns violently at the idea and you roll onto your side, facing away from Hedwyn's reassuring smile.

"I wouldn't want to cause a fuss, regardless," you mutter, closing your eyes to focus on calming yourself, "but thank you for your advice." You think he says something else, maybe a few something's, but it's hard to make the words out through...whatever reaction your having, and after a few minutes he murmurs something you think is a good night, then stands and walks away. As the sounds of the forest become a vague drone at the back of your mind, you find yourself wishing you were better at this whole 'friendship' thing. You'd thought you _were_ better, having traveled with people in close quarters for months without too much anti-social behavior, but honestly it wasn't like the others asked much of you beyond your abilities as a Reader.

Was it really friendship if you just 'received' friendship, rather than actively participate? Everyone here was...well, mostly everyone, you would consider a friend to you, but to them you might as well just be a passing acquaintance for all the impact you had outside of the Rites. _Maybe,_ you muse, frowning at the gently swaying grass, _Volfred was right about me just being a convenient stand in._ It was obvious that he was a Reader himself - even if he hadn't reached into you like an aged farmer opening a chestnut to say as much, directly into your mind- a far more skilled one than you, immensely more capable in guiding a triumverate in a Rite.

Could you do that too? Reach into someone and speak without making a sound? _Had you_ , without realizing? Hopefully not...it had hurt a bit, when Volfred had done it, and you can't imagine any of the others staying quiet about such a visceral intrusion on your part.

Intimidated by this line of thinking, by the notion that you could hurt the people you cared for without ever knowing, you turn your focus to a different and more immediate person failing: Was it seflish of you, to want to stay? Perhaps, rather than just occupying a spot, you were standing in the way? Your mind couldn't even comprehend the shape of what you felt when you considered leaving the Nightwings, who had become your...something.

 _That_ something had a shape that you could comprehend, yet you shied away from it and what it implied.

"Reader."

You yelp in alarm, grabbing a fistfull of soil and grass in each hand as you scramble for enough purchase to roll back over and see who had come upon you, who- A flash of blonde braid and tapered horn is enough, and you go limp with a dramatic groan of embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Jodariel," you say as you carefully manuever yourself to lay flat on your back again, while also trying not to look at her without being too obvious about it, "I was...I was miles away, I guess. Didn't hear you coming at all."

"You may call me Jodi."

Something blooms in your chest and then immediately bubbles, both of which are sensations you don't typically associate with having functioning organs, but all your mind can supply in that moment is _**HEDWYN**_.

When you don't respond, something that feels like nervousness - but can't be, because you're too stunned to be nervous - fills the space between the two of you before you hear Jodariel turn to walk back to the wagon.

"Wait!"

She pauses, her back still to you.

"I..." you gingerly sit up, grunting at the stiffness in your legs - well, leg. "I'm stuck."

"...What?"

You use your arms to turn yourself to face her, wincing. "Even before the sun sets it's, uh, kind of dark here? So after the rite, I just wanted to take a walk but I didn't realize how many holes and bumps and...I dunno, critter burrows, there would be, and..."

Jodariel strides back to you, and you stare at her cloven feet to keep from looking up.

"I kind of tripped, and lost my grip on my crutch and I can't...find it?" You're sitting squarely in the center of Jodariel's impressive shadow, so even when you do muster the courage to look up the only bit of her face you can make out is the shape of her faintly luminescent eyes (a demon thing?), no matter how much you squint.

"Reader, you've been over here for nearly two hours."

"Yeaaaaah," you exhale, "I've been trying to work up the energy to hop, or drag myself back, but...We kind of parked the wagon on a hill?" To be fair, the 'hill' was little more than a gentle incline, but you're exhausted, emotionally and physically, and also too stubborn to ask for help and let Volfred feel even more justified in trying to send you away for being 'unfit'. Or, you  _had_ been too stubborn, but you limbs were starting to go numb...

"...Would you like some help?"

You only consider for a moment before the cold and the soreness convince you, then nod. "Please."

It only takes her a minute or two to find where your crutch had landed, which you attribute to her partial night vision (for the sake of your pride) and she murmurs a quick "Ah," before scooping it up and carrying it back to you. "Do you need assistance standing?" 

You give your leg an experimental bend and hiss through your teeth. "Oh yeah, definitely." You hold up a hand that she immediately grabs, _so warm_ , and uses to haul you up with no visible effort. She keeps you balanced while you wedge your crutch under your other arm and distribute your weight.

"Ready?" She asks, loosening her grip on your hand.

"Yeah." You answer, reflexively tightening your grip on her hand. Doubtless it'd be nothing to pry herself from your grasp, but she doesn't pull away.

When you hazard a glance at her face, you see she's frowning down at your joined hands and _oh god, I went too far, I should-_

"You're cold as ice, Reader." The woman grumbles, frowning hard enough that you know you'd be able to see her chin dimple in a better light. "What will we do if you get sick?"

"Volfred can Read," you offer meekly, "so there won't be any Rites missed on my account."

She's silent for a moment as the two of you start walking back to the wagon before glancing down to catch your eye. "Regardless of whether or not he can Read," she states, "he is not our _Reader._ I would think that distinction to be apparent."

"...Oh," is all you can think to say, your chest doing that blooming and fizzling thing all over again, "I...okay."

Matter apparently settled, she focuses her eyes on the wagon and continues walking you back.

"...Thank you, Jodi."

She hums something affirming, and as a companionable silence falls over the two of you, the noises of nocturnal forest life an unassuming back drop, you realize that you feel more at peace than you can ever remember feeling.


	10. Hug It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually kinda sorta tried to keep things in about the same tense this time around, but no biggie if I missed a few spots - it got to the point that if I sat on this chapter for too much longer I was gonna risk convincing myself to delete it all and start over, so I decided it was the worth the risk to just post it instead. Am very sleepy zzzzzzzzzzzzz

The moment the wagon's wheels hit Mount Alodiel, you'd been in a fog - moving listlessly from one spot to the next as your mind tries to go in every direction at once. Would you be able to lead your friends to victory? Had you chosen the right person to be liberated first? Knowing now that you would likely never achieve liberation for yourself, how long could you avoid thinking about your inevitable solitude? Would the others come to resent your choices after being passed over one too many times?

What would become of those that were liberated if Volfred's plan didn't work?

"Thinking deep thoughts, darling?"

You visibly startle out of your reverie to find Pamitha standing before you, lips quirked into what you were coming to understand was a reflexive smile. You blink owlishly at her as your mind sluggishly makes sense of her greeting. She'd found you on the rear wagon platform, leg dangling over the edge as you started blankly at wagon wheel marks carved into otherwise untouched mountain soil.

"...Honestly, not really," you admit with a sigh, roughly scrubbing a hand over your face in a futile attempt to dispel your thoughts. "just worrying. About everything. Forever. I think it's my primary talent, probably always has been, even Before."

Someone must have appraised the harp of your incomplete memory- or she'd pieced it together on her own - because she shows no surprise. Then again, she might just be more composed than you. Which wasn't hard. Ti'zo was more composed than you.

"Well then," she gestures broadly with her wings to the east, "why not walk with me? I've heard rumors of my kinswomen hiding talisman's in the crags here, and I aim to investigate."

Startled but pleased, you nod and carefully lower yourself from the wagon's back platform to the ground. As she watches you shift your weight before leaning more heavily than usual on your crutch, she adds "If you need to rest-"

"No," you cut in, "sitting with just make it harder later. Better to walk out the stiffness now, on the way to the important things." Thankfully she doesn't press, and is even kind enough to considerably slow her pace so you don't have to struggle to keep up. It's the first time the two of you have been alone since meeting Volfred, and your so relieved to put some space between you and the Sap that you almost miss her own shoulders gradually relax as the distance between the two of you and the wagon grows.

"Needed a break?" You ask, though you don't even need to guess as to who specifically she might want a break from - and it certainly wasn't Volfred.

She side eyes you a moment, likely judging your sincerity, then nods. "Most of your group-"

"OUR group." You cut in.

"...our group," she smiles at you, "means well, but-"

_FWA-CRACK_

You both stop and turn at the echoing noise of the wagon door opening with enough force to smack against the outer wall. Jodariel steps out, and even from this distance, you can feel her scan you up and down before her eyes lock on Pamitha and she moves to join you. What had taken you a couple minutes to walk she covers in only a few seconds, stride slow but covering exponentially more ground with each step, and then she's before the two of you, arms crossed.

"Where are you going?" Her tone is placid, expression the definition of calm - a stark contrast to how she'd essentially burst out of the wagon to give chase. Pamitha's smile is gone, but nothing else about her body language betrays her presumed displeasure.

"Chasing a rumor of a talisman hidden around here."

Jodariel pointedly looks at you.

"And," Pamitha adds in answer to the clear but unspoken question, "I invited our Reader to join me."

When neither says anything for a long moment, you softly add, "I need to stretch my leg." Jodariel seemed to consider this, then nodded. 

"I understand, Reader."

You smile and, much to your surprise, she smiles back - the slightest upturn of a corner of her mouth. Thinking the matter settled, _crisis averted_ , you bob your head to her and turn to continue on, Pamitha beside you.

Jodariel follows.

_Mayday???_

You feel just a wisp of frustration leak into the space between you and Pamitha, and some distant part of you notes that it's the first negative emotion that had slipped through the hard shell of her self-control; when you chance a glance at her face, her lips are pressed into a thin, grim line. It strikes you that you're actually a bit miffed with jodariel as well - despite you're suspicion that she thought she was there for your benefit. Pamitha clearly wanted a brief reprieve from Jodariel's scrutiny, and you had hoped for a chance at a damn conversation! Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you decide to try and salvage this walk.

"Is it common for triumvirates to hide talisman's around the Downside? We've found others in various nooks and crannies, but I guess I had the impression that they had been lost rather than purposefully stowed away." Pamitha didn't immediately respond, but when she glanced over and saw your attempt at an encouraging smile, she relented.

"I can't speak for all triumvirates," she admitted, a shadow of her reflexive smile on her face, "but it's no secret that my kin are suspicious and cautious to a fault. We've been at war for so long that, even in exile, we can think of no other way to live." You have roughly three seconds to be proud of yourself for coaxing such an honest response from the Harp and for evading disaster - for the second time in ten minutes, no less! - before Jodariel made some kind of derisive noise in her throat.

_Scribes._

"What was that?" Pamitha asked sharply, smiling a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she stopped and turned to face Jodariel fully, "I couldn't quite hear you, no need to mumble, _dear_!"

_Scribes Dammit._

"You know nothing of the costs of this war." The blonde said without hesitation.

_Dammit Dammit Dammit Dammit!_

Pamitha made a noise somewhere between a cluck and a sputter, sneering back with some surely biting retort.

For a few seconds, their argument falls into the background - despite happening directly in front of you - as you stared wistfully back toward the wagon, praying that someone would step out to investigate the noise and come to relieve you of the burden of playing peace keeper - preferably Hedwyn, but anyone would be better suited to it than you - but everyone must have either been too busy to notice or the three of you had managed to get out of earshot.

The bickering rapidly morphed from accusations related to the war to Jodariel scoffing that the harp should stick to plucking trinkets from high places, because that's all she was good for.

If the demon notices your scathing glare, she doesn't acknowledge it.

The noise Pamitha made in response to that comment was something akin to a trill and distinctly irate, before she snapped back, "If you think that that's the only purpose I have, why pester me now? I'm trying to do the one thing you seem to approve of me doing!"

Jodi's eyes flick to you, expression ALMOST uncomfortable, before she's all righteous composure again; it's less than a second, but Pamitha's eyes are too sharp to miss it.

"What, you fear I'd," she gestured wildly at you with her wings, "you think I'd do something to your-"

You clear your throat, intending to keep Pamitha from othering herself.

"-OUR reader?!" _Oh._  "What would i do, carry her off into the sky??"

Jodariel narrowed her eyes and stepped right into the harp's space, nostrils flaring, tone dipping to a dangerously low pitch when she spoke, "Is that a threat?"

"Now **THAT** ," you hissed, hobbling forward to try and squeeze between them, "is **QUITE** enough!!"

The demon didn't budge, but Pamitha leaned back just a fraction - without breaking eye contact - which is just enough for you to wedge yourself between them.

"No one," you grunt, trying to lift your free hand into the air between their faces, as if the tension could be dispersed with insistent enough hand flapping, "is threatening anyone, because we're a TEAM. Remember that??" You feel Pamitha's wings on either side of you and, if you weren't so focused, you would notice that her feathers were surprisingly soft.

"How do we know she won't betray us to her sister?" Jodariel accused with a growl, the sound pitching deeper as Pamitha let out a startled bark of laughter.

"You saw how Tamitha treated me," the harp said, "she wouldn't accept my help, no matter what I offered." A whisper of genuine regret and pain escaped from the winged woman as she spoke. Without thinking, you gently touch one of her wings with your free hand, unsure of what other comfort to offer.

"Then...then you aim to curry her pity," Jodriel retorted, and you don't realize she's referring to you until you register the weight of her gaze on your hand, "in hopes of earning yourself the first spot to go, to flee your sister's wrath."

Wedged as you were, you were acutely aware of how Pamitha tensed, and the quiver of her wings.

"You speak of pity," the harp spat, "but you're blind if you think that _I_  am the pitied one."

"Wha-"

"Can't you see that you'll be the first to go?!"

"Why-"

"You've been here the longest of any of us," Pamitha insisted, barreling over any of the demon's attempts to break in, "you bear the evidence on your very body! Every time we look upon you, we see that!"

"No-"

"Can't you _FEEL_ how everyone _PITY'S_ you??"

Jodariel's mouth opens to interrupt again, but no sound escapes. Pamitha even waited a few seconds, pointedly allowing for the demon to formulate a response but, when it became apparent that none was coming, she continued.

"And you know what? I hope, with all my heart, that you _are_ the first," the harp's voice, initially soft, hardens, "because if nothing else, at least I will be **FREE OF YOU**."

The words seemed to reverberate in the fractional space between the three of you. Were you trembling, or were they? Were you all shaking?

Then, eyes averted, Jodi stepped away. You weren't expecting the sudden loss of the support of her body and pitched forward, but Pamitha deftly caught you in her wings, holding you steady as you struggled to keep your crutch from slipping out of your clammy hands. And the two of you stand there, watching Jodariel walk back to the wagon and step inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

A beat of silence followed, then two, then three, before Pamitha's sigh broke the bubble of tension. "That went...poorly."

She shifted as if to pull away. You gentle squeeze with the hand on her wing to keep her in place.

"Are you alright?"

Now it's the Harp's turn to blink owlishly at you, before letting out an exasperated laugh. "You mean to tell me you aren't at all upset with me? Surely you haven't forgotten that one of the conditions of my joining your..." she faltered, "our..." a grimace flitted across her features, " _this_ group, was that I find a way to get along with tall, blonde and hooved?"

"Well, actually," you mutter, "I think you both made asses of yourself. BUT," you hold up a hand to pause her defense, "Jodi instigated. You have every right to defend yourself, even if I don't like how you do it. That will ALWAYS be true." You stared pointedly at her until she nodded. "So I ask again: are you alright?"

Pamitha opened her mouth to answer but stopped, and you can both see and feel her mulling the question over. "I...I don't know?"

In the ensueing silence you sense her mind continue to churn, but you don't press for a different answer. You were the last person to take issue with someone being uncertain of their feelings.

"I'm sorry that that happened," you say, and as you speak you attempt to give her a casual yet reassuring one armed hug, but your hands were still shaking and your palms were slick with sweat, so instead you lost your grip on your crutch and toppled against her.

"Noooo..." you groan, feeling your body begin to tremble with increasing force as the adrenaline that had carried you through their shouting began to seep away, "I'm the worst at reassuring people! What is reassuring about falling over??" 

"I beg to differ, darling." There's a rustling of wing and the brush of feathers gliding against your cheek, and you sluggishly realize you've been enfolded in Pamitha's wings. As she spoke she gave you an impressively firm squeeze - nearly lifting you off your feet in the process. "I'm feeling better already."

But then she set you down and, once certain you were standing as solidly as one could expect, instructed you to 'sit pretty' while she took a quick flight to look for the rumored talisman that had started all of this hubbub.

* * *

 

It wasn't until the next day that you had a chance to actually talk to Jodariel. You would never accuse her of AVOIDING YOU, because _why would she_ , but as the wagon rolled ever closer to the mountain's peak...she seem almost manically focused on doing as many things as possible. To your relief, when the wagon camed to a stop after a full three hours of the blonde re-organizing the same pile of supplies over and over again, Hedwyn stepped in to insist, not unkindly, that she needed a break.

Rukey assisted with a grin and some sass about Jodi's stomping about eventially bringing the walls down around them, which if nothing else encouraged her to get away for him lest she rip off his moustache.

You'd stepped out once you saw Hedwyn approach her and had listened to the exchange from your seat on a nearby and level enough rock - and thus were already waiting when she allowed herself to be shooed out.

"Going for a walk?" you ask, going for nonchalant but failing miserably. She made an affirmative sound, to which you responded "Opposed to company?"

There was no verbal answer, but she waited while you stood and limped over, which was answer enough. The two of you walked in silence for as long as it took to get out of earshot of the wagon.

"Jodi?"

She hummed in acknowledgement, still staring resolutely ahead.

"I wanted to ask if everything was ok." The path was regular enough that you were comfortable looking away from it to try to read her expression, only to find that she was already looking at you. "Because," you immediately look away, eyes glued the ground directly in front of you as you tried to ignore how quickly your face heated, _focus, dammit_ , "things got pretty heated earlier. With Pamitha."

Her heavy exhale had an undertone of something that you suspected might be resignation, but still she offered no verbal respnse, lips apparently sealed.

 _'Fine,'_ you thought, _'I'll just talk until Jodi does. It always works for Rukey...eventually.'_

"You definitely instigated it, of course."

She muttered something, which you chose to ignore.

"And Pamitha had every right to defend herself. BUT."

She'd started to walk a little faster once you accused her of instigating the fight, and you hobbled just fast enough to catch the edge of her sleeve. Much to your relief, she allowed herself to be halted, though her eyes remained ever forward. You stare at the back of her head and try to catch your breath.

"You both said some pretty awful things. Things that clearly hit home." You peered at her for a few seconds and, watching her shoulders relax fractionally, you release her sleeve. Gingerly, not wanting to overstep her boundaries (or fall on her), you loosely loop an arm around her waist.

Jodariel's reaction is immediate but blessedly positive - rather than pull away, or stand there and just allow herself to be hugged, the demon turned toward you. Her arms came around you, and as you closed your eyes and let yourself be pressed against her front, you couldn't help but appreciate how good at hugs the other woman was.

"Jodi, I just," you say into her shirt, "wanted to make sure that you're ok."

You simulatenously heard and feltl Jodariel sigh, her breath rustling your hair. "I'm better, Reader...thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this event in game was another one of the earlier things I wrote about that inspired this fic. How time flies...


	11. If you want to make a better world, you gotta act like it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll always put your friends first but...it can't just be about the Nightwings. Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned before that my writing music is Toundra (II)? Like, the full album. 
> 
> This one is a bit longer because I kept not finding the right place to stop so I just kept writing and my eyes hurt aaaaaaaaaah

_"Ah, Moira...I doubt you'd even recognize me anyway."_

You don't initially recognize the voice - it wasn't coming from one of your teammates, so for an instant you think that the voice is literally _The Voice_ , capital V, perhaps speaking in common rather than the verbal pronunciation of written script, but...no, that wasn't right either. The cadence was wrong, no pomp or derision, just fatigue and resignation.

The answer came when you leapt, your breath in Fae's skin, sailing through the air over the Temper's heads and  _fwoom_ , into their Pyre. When her consciousness vanished from your grasp for the few seconds it took for her to resurface and, rather than an instant of whiplash before your mind latched onto one of the other Nightwings, you are filled with a plume of frustration and resignation.

_'Ah'_ , you think with the fraction of yourself that is only you,  _'so I guess the empathy extends to everyone now. Fan-tucking-fastic.'_

Fae manifests, the note of her intent high and clear, and you latch onto the rapid staccato of her thoughts to center yourself - you couldn't risk losing yourself in the regrets of your opponent, epiphanies be  _damned_.

* * *

No one had questioned your choice to liberate Fae; she was just a teenager cast out for being different, for being  _herself_ , and in your mind, her exile was a prime example of how far the Commonwealth had fallen from the idyllic utopia the Scribes had dreamed of. You had been prepared to explain, of course, but the others simply nodded in quiet agreement.

"We should offer to share our camp for the night. With the Tempers."

However,  _this_ suggestion was met with far less understanding.

"I would rather cut out my own tongue." Jodariel rumbled, an echo of her sentiments during the liberation rite.

"I mean," Rukey huffed, "that's a bit dramatic, Jodi, but I'm not too keen on the idea either. What's going on, sis?"

"The fatigue again?" Hedwyn asks, voice soft. You blinked rapidly, fighting to grasp your thoughts as they continued to seep through your fingers like a sieve,  _yes, the fatigue again,_ but at this moment it was an obstacle to being taken seriously rather than the impetus for your suggestion.

"No - Yes, I mean," you're sagging heavily against your crutch, roughly scrubbing your free hand over your face, "I'm tired, I'm always tired, but that's not. That's not _why._ " 

From Tariq's shoulder, Ti'zo chittered something about having never seen the inside of another triumvirate's wagon, to which Tariq quietly admitted he hadn't either. Pamitha simply watched you, head cocked to one side.

"Well  _I_ think it's an absolutely  _chivalrous_ idea!!" Gilman exclaimed, slithering across the ground to coil around your ankle and the rubber foot of your crutch - you snort, knowing full well the gesture is meant to appear supportive, but he's thinking quite loudly about how you're swaying and how best to catch you if you fall. "There's no need to treat the others as anything other than worthy adversaries!"

"It's just..." You'd been pointedly avoiding it but, with a resolute breath, you look to Volfred, who had thus far looked on in silence, fingers steepled. "you said you had a campsite in mind, yes? Would there be enough room for two wagons?"

After a long moment he nodded, and you looked away to make your case to the others, but your vision blurred and he was  _there_ , like he'd been before, casually rifling through your thoughts as if the intrusion didn't make your head pulse.  _Scribes **damn** him_, you take a deep breath, clutching your line of thought as if it were flotsam in a roiling sea.

"Traveling down the mountain..." You grit your teeth and sag even more heavily against your crutch, _he's looking at the memory of the first time you'd opened the Book of Rites_ , only vaguely aware of Gilman cautiously curling the tip of his tail around your ankle, "it's dangerous to do in the night, and they'll be more likely to be reckless after their loss. It would be safer-"

"And why is that our concern?" Volfred asks, expression only vaguely curious, as if he weren't digging for the answer to that question at that very moment.

You try not to sneer at him, and fail.

"Why  _wouldn't_ it be?" You snap, ignoring a startled noise from Rukey, "The other triumvirates aren't  _obstacles,_ they're people! People like _us_ : Exiled by the Commonwealth, the only home they've likely ever known," your eyes flick to Pamitha, "or as prisoner's of the war none of us can imagine the world without."

You think of Tamitha and her snarling promise to see the Commonwealth burn, by her or by another, and you find you sympathize with her. You feel a trickle of amusement from your uninvited guest and physically lift your hand, gesturing in the air as if to dispel it - for an instant your mind is your own and, startled, you glance in Volfred's direction, but he's already wading through your thoughts again. Had you imagined it?

"Not every exile is blameless, Reader." Jodi says, not needing to look at Pamitha for everyone present to know what she meant. The Harp in question smiled - for an instant in a way that was more a baring of teeth, but in the next it was an unassuming little smirk.

"Sis," Rukey sat, one ear perked, the other flopped against the side of his head, "we know you've got a lot of heart, but you can't...you can't take care of  _everyone,_ you know? There's just stuff you can't do, people you can't help."

You jab your finger at him, "So that means we shouldn't help who we can?!" because  _no,_ you would not be cast in a light of an overly idealistic little girl, even as your stomach churns and Volfred peruses the darker thoughts that are ever present at the back of your mind; your mind repeats each thought he touches,  _too slow, too weak, too **sensitive** , what are you even doing here?_

Your voice echoes in the space before the Scribes gate, and with each word the stone repeats, you hear a venom you hadn't intended. "Fuck," you murmur, blanching at Rukey's wide eyes and lowered head, "I'm sorry, Ruke, I didn't mean to-" you stop, rubbing your hand over your face again, _they'd be better off without you_ , "I'm sorry. I know I can't..." The pressure behind your eyes is nigh unbearable but you won't,  _can't_ cry, can't give Volfred the satisfaction of watching you crumble, because clearly that's the only thing you can think of that he'd hope to gain from doing this-

Volfred's presence falters, his focus settling on a dark crevice at the back of your mind. ' _What is that?'_ you think, ' _Don't touch it!'_ your mind supplies in the same instant as you sense him reach out-

"WOULD YOU," you shout, " _JUST **STOP**_."

And he's out. Some part of you registers Tariq's voice, a murmured query to the Sap, and you can only assume there'd been some flinch or other outward sign of Volfred's expulsion for your mind.

"Is this all just some kind of game to you??" You snarl, even as you sag so heavily against the support of your crutch that Sir Gilman lets out a little 'ah!' of alarm. "I'm a  _person_ , dammit, not a book you can open and flip through!"

"What is going on?" you hear Jodariel ask, followed by the crunch of loose stones under her hooves as she approached, but your eyes don't leave Volfred's face.

"What's going  _on,_ " you try to stand more steadily and let out a soft wheeze of exertion, "is that our  _benefactor_ won't stay out of my  _mind_." The blonde makes a noise in her throat that you interpret as equal measures alarm and confusion.

"...Wait," you frown and look from the Sap to Jodi, who had already arrived at your side, "why...why doesn't it sound like you know what I'm talking about."

"Reader's can  _read minds_?!" Rukey yelps, ears back, " _Since when??_ "

"Anyone's mind?" Gilman queries, uncurling from around your ankle to push himself a little more upright.

"Uh," you furrow your brow, "I guess? I don't usually hear much, uh, I mostly just get...feelings? I sometimes hear thoughts, but it's more...it's more like I'm overhearing something really loud."

"But you're saying that Sandalwood has been actively listening in?" Hedwyn asks, audibly confused, but when you look at him his eyes are on Volfred, a dark expression on his face that you couldn't remember seeing before. You note that Pamitha, still standing beside the nomad, doesn't appear to be surprised.

"Yeah..." you blink, "Wait, how could none of you have noticed he was doing it? It...it  _hurts._ "

The silence that settles over the group is filled with wisps of everyone's muddled reactions, the spectrum shifting rapidly from confusion to realization to anger. Though most of the latter is coming from you, because if no one else had noticed then surely he hadn't been messing with their minds, and so...

"Just me." 

Volfred's composure isn't visibly disturbed, but there's something to the flare of his nostrils that is answer enough.

"I...Why?" Your voice starts soft, "Why just me?"

The Sap exhales, "It-"

"No," you hiss, "you know what, you've talked enough and I don't even care about your justification.  _Now you get to listen_." Belatedly you realize that you're hobbling toward him, and no one moves to stop you. "You talk of lofty ideals, of spending years working in secret to create a better Commonwealth, a better  _world_ , but you know what I think?"

His eyes are cold as he regards you, and it only makes you angrier.

"I think you've spent too long alone," you're halfway across the space that had initially separated the two of you, "too long thinking and scheming by yourself in the woods, and you forgot about the people who have to actually  _survive_ to be in your ideal world. You clearly have no interest in the health and well being of those who don't directly serve your plan and, honestly, even though the Nightwings are the group you've chosen to sponsor, you don't seem to think much more of us either."

"How-"

" **Shut. Up.** " You snap, pausing to catch your breath and trying to keep your knees from shaking so violently. "I get that you've spent however many years biding your time in the Downside, biding your time until the perfect moment to strike, but you...you  _get_ that we're all  _people_ , right? People with our own wants and desires that have decided, of our own free will, to  _help_ you with your plan. Stars above, I..." your breath catches and you have to take a breather, because this is probably the most you've ever talked and certainly the loudest, "I sent..." you think of Fae's face when she'd vanished into the shimmer pool, the relief to be free of the dangers of the Downside, the  _fear of being alone_. You think of her being your hero, and you know that friend isn't a stop enough word. "I sent my  _family_ ," Yes, that was it, "I sent my little sister to be the first of us to help work toward the final stages of this plan, because I...we...because  _she_ believed in it. Because when you spoke, she believed that it's what the Scribes wanted, and if for one second I think that you don't respect what she's risking, or see her as a pawn, I'll..."

You hear it in the silence that fills the clearing, hear it without even needing to say the words out loud, ' _I'll leave'._ Fear burns up your throat as the thoughts Volfred had churned up in his wake rise again to the front of your mind,  _they'd be better off without you_ , and you want to sink into the ground because maybe this had been what he wanted all along.

A hand falls on your shoulder and you start, looking back to see Hedwyn, expression grim. One by one, the other Nightwings join the two of you - Jodariel, Gilman, Rukey and Pamitha. Ti'zo stays on Tariq's shoulder and the minstrel doesn't join you, but neither is he standing very close to Volfred; rather, the pale man is standing off the side, observing with what looks to be the ghost of a smile on his face.

_' **We** will leave,'_ says the silence.

Volfred closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly while massaging his temples. "There's no need to make such dramatic declarations, my girl. It was not my intent to target you."

"That sounds like utter bullshit." You snap, wrinkling your nose at his exasperated sigh. "You don't get to act like I'm over reacting, you sanctimonious tit!"

"...Tit?"

" _Yeah_ , you heard me!" you try to ignore the note of petulance in your voice, and fail. "I don't give an imp's ass what you  _intended_ , because the result was that it  _hurt_ and you  _kept doing it._ I want to know  _why."_ The world tilts and a wave of adrenaline fueled nausea washes over you, and you know you don't have much more confrontation in you. "Is it because I'm a cripple?" You guess wildly, gesturing theatrically at your stump as you waggle it at him, hoping to make him uncomfortable. 

He doesn't even blink.

"Because I'm a woman?"

Several sensations bleed into the air - the clearest of which is Volfred taking absolute offense to the suggestion, which was a point in his favor but...there  _had_ to be something, something about you that he thought made you unfit to be the Nightwing's Reader. Something that he'd seen in your mind?

_...oh._

"Is it." You stare at him with renewed intensity, because otherwise you might accidentally glance back at Jodi or Pamitha and you  _absolutely cannot do that_ , "Is it because I'm gay?"

' _Oralech.'_

The word (a name?) was so clear and immediate that you almost think it'd been said aloud, but the only reaction you sense is Volfred's alarm.

' _Oralech._ '

"Stop." The Sap says, pressing a hand to his face, and you stare at him in confusion before realizing what the intensity of your focus had done.

' _Oralech._ ' said Volfred's thoughts, a staccato undercurrent too consistent to be intentional. You'd  _Read_ him, like he'd Read you, and you immediately regret it, closing your eyes and turning your face away, suddenly and instinctually knowing that that would break the connection.

The tension in the clearing fizzles out with the last of your will to fight, and if the others weren't already standing directly behind you you might have fallen.

* * *

You don't remember much of what immediately followed your confrontation with Volfred - the others hadn't necessarily agreed with you about inviting the Tempers to share your campsite for the night before supporting you in said confrontation, but when you awake the next morning and peer out the nearest window, you can see a wagon bearing the other triumvirates colors not far away.

You can also hear the Temper's leader's voice, and distinctly make out the phrase 'curly horns'. Stiff and fatigued yet uncertain if Jodi might be pushed to aggression if unable to evade the other demon, you force yourself up.

"What, you don't drink?" Ignarius says as you cautiously exit the wagon, blinking against the shine of the morning sun.

"I do." Jodi responds curtly, by all appearances completely focused on the task of hauling what appears to be bundles of bedding toward Hedwyn, who stands beside a well, pulling up pails of water that he pours into the largest bucket the Nightwings possessed. Behind him, Gilman and a wyrm that you recognize as one of the Tempers are having a, ah,  _enthusiastic_ debate about...trees?

"Laundry?" You hazard a guess, watching as a bog-crone, the third and final member of the Ignarius' team, slithers out of the Tempers's wagon with a glass vial of something faintly green. 

"Yes," Jodi answers, stopping and turning fully to you, most likely just so she can turn her back on Ignarius. "The bedding, at least."

"Oh," you try to recall if the other bunks had had blankets when you'd gotten up a minute ago, but your mind is still foggy with sleep, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. Should I-"

With impressive speed, Jodariel dumped the bundles of sheets and blankets she held unceremoniously into Ignarius's arms, then turned and strode past you, vanishing into the wagon. You don't miss how the bog-crone, while slithering past behind Ingarius, rolls her eyes at the spectacle; then she arrives beside the large bucket Hedwyn has been filling with water and, after a few hissed words, uncorks the glass vial she carried and poured it into the bucket.

_Is that mint soap? That smells like mint soap._

"...Dammit." The demon man grunted, staring at the wagon's door. After almost a minute, you think, ' _is he planning to just stand there and wait?_ '

A pointed cough finally pulls his eyes from the wagon entrance and down to you, and the regards you with a comically exaggerated brow quirk.

"Don't remember seeing you before." He says bluntly. "Why d'you Nightwings have so many members?"

"I'm not..." You pause, considering your phrasing. "I don't participate in the Rites, not like them. I'm the Reader."

He frowns down at you. "What d'you mean, don't participate? Do Readers not have to participate?" You stare up at him in bewilderment as he turns his head, shouting a quick "Pfrumta!", drawing the eyes of the bog-crone, though she doesn't move until he makes an exaggerated 'come here' motion with a jerk of his head.

"Why are ye standing about?" She hissed in a soft, raspy voice, though you sensed it was just how she talked rather than with any real annoyance.

"Do Readers not have to participate in Rites?" Ignarius asked, brow furrowed. The bog-crone, Pfurmta, he'd said, regarded him with an expression that might have been impatience or amusement. You had no idea.

"If one wished to, yesss." Her faintly luminescent eyes drift to you (maybe curious?) and you incline your head in respectful greeting.

"Was that soap?" You asked, gesturing to the large bucket, which Hedwyn has already started dunking a bed sheet in, suds manifesting on the wet fabric as he scrubbed. Pfrumta nodded. "Did you make it?" She nodded again, expression still unreadable to you, but you note how the snakes on her head seem to move a bit more languidly. A good sign?? "It smells wonderful. Thank you for sharing."

"The handsssome one offered to wash everyonesss bedding, in exchange for sssoap." She said, shrugging, but you get the impression that the compliment was appreciated all the same. Also, 'by 'the handsome one', did she mean Hedwyn??

"Pfrumta," Ignarius cuts back in, "how can a Reader do...Reading stuff without participating?"

She shrugged again and looked to you, prompting Ignarius to do the same and...you actually didn't know. It hadn't really occurred to you that the other triumvirate's Readers participated in the Rites, but how else would they be justified in having only three members? Thus, if there were only three positions in each triumvirate, and having a Reader was necessary to participate in the Rites at all...

"I don't really know how it works, actually," you explained, "but I'm happy it does. I don't think I'd be much of a competitor." You glance at Hedwyn, then back to Ignarius. "I think I'll help my friend do the washing, would you put those on the pile?" You gestured to the bundles of bedding he held, then to the already sizable pile stacked beside Hedwyn, and the demon grunts a quick, 'shit, forgot', and hurries over to do just that.

"Good morning, my friend," Hedwyn greets as you approach, smiling warmly, "come to enjoy the soapy smell? Our beds will be cleaner than the rest of us."

"Actually, I was wondering if you had a second brush?"

The nomad nods eagerly and, after helping you to sit comfortably beside him, he presses the spare scrubbing brush into your hands. 

As you scrub, you hear Ignarius stomp over to Gilman and the third Tempers member, saying "River, weren't you two supposed to have picked some trees with sturdy looking branches for hanging the laundry?"

"We  _are_ ," the wrym, River, retorts. "We've narrowed it down to three different pairs that would be suitable."

"And we must be careful to pick the  _best_!" Gilman exclaimed, puffing out his...chest area. "If we choose the incorrect pair, perhaps the branches will snap, and the laundry may fall!"

There's a beat of silence, followed by Ignarius grumbling, "Wyrms are from the ocean, what do you know about trees? Why'd we give you this job??"

* * *

The Tempers stay for nearly three days, during which you only see Volfred once. You weren't sure if he was actively avoiding you or just not spending much time at the camp, but you were more inclined to believe the latter. Ignarius seems to get the hint that Jodi doesn't relish his company after suggesting for the umpteenth time that she dump the Nightwings to join his team and she threatens to snap off his remaining horn.

Then again, it was less about him getting the hint and more about Pfrumta threatening to curse him with the most heinous of nightmares if she had to listen to him try to flirt ever again.

You didn't think bog-crones could actually do that. Could they?

No...probably not...?

Ignarius and his team mates rise early the morning of the fourth day, gather their things and depart. You hadn't risen early enough to see them go, but Ti-zo assures you it was all very civil, even friendly. The imp had taken a liking to the bog-crone Pfrumta and apparently the feeling had been at least semi-mutual, as when you staggered out of the bunk area you spied several vials of varous luminescent liquids in Ti'zo's woven straw nest, right next to his stuffed fish. When you'd asked, the imp said that Pfrumta had given him the vials in case of 'dire emergencies'.

You decided to give his nest a wide berth.

The evening of the fifth day, you smell tobacco and look up from the Book of Rites to find Volfred leaning against the far wall, taking thoughtful inhales from his pipe. The quiet breathing you hear from the other room informs you that the others are either asleep, or out getting fresh air. Your first impulse was to leave, but lingering for several days in high altitudes had had some kind of effect on your already sensitive biometrics, and it just wasn't worth it to you to bother standing up to escape his company.

"...Might we speak?" he asked, regarding you through a plume of smoke. You want to say something scathing, something like, ' _Oh, is there something you want that you can't find in my head? I thought you were supposed to be a seasoned Reader_ ,' but...feeling far more secure in your position now that most everyone had sided with you in front of Volfred, you find that you don't really care to fight anymore.

"Sure, Volfred. I'm listening."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep seeing that screen cap of the mod of smash someone made that gives Kirby huge pink human feet, and its brought my fiancé and I to a bit of an impasse. I believe that the darker pink appendages that usually serve as Kirby's feet are ACTUALLY his feet, while she maintains that he's had pink human feet all along, and the darker pink round things we associate with his classic design are in fact shoes.
> 
> Please help.


	12. The Time Between Cycles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have chapters of varying lengths that focus on interactions between Reader and each of the Nightwings before moving on with the narrative, because story-wise this is a great time to really earn that good good slice of life in purgatory-allegory-land tag. First up: Volfred and Jodi!

"It's not supposed to hurt." Volfred began, idly tapping the bulb of his pipe. "Certainly there are...methods, both intentional and accidental, that can cause discomfort, but simply being Read shouldn't be uncomfortable."

You kept the Book of Rites open on your lap and absently ran your fingers over the pages as he spoke. "But you  _did_ know that it hurt?"

"I suspected," he admitted, tone bordering on casual, "because it hurt to Read you." If the Sap notices your frown, which you suspect he does, he doesn't acknowledge it. "There's an edge to your mind that I haven't encountered before. By no means have I seen all that there is to see, or even a fraction, but you must understand my curiosity."

Fear murmurs at the back of your mind - you'd feared that you might have been hurting the others whenever you'd accidentally 'heard' their feelings, which you suspected was actually a sort of ambient Reading rather than empathy, but before you can tread too deeply into those murky waters Volfred draws your attention with a pointed clearing of his throat.

"The others have shown no signs of discomfort in your presence." His pause clearly communicated, ' _and I know because I've been watching for it,_ ' and you briefly consider being frustrated with how easily he made you feel like an interesting specimen; a learning opportunity, an oddity, a _novelty_ , rather than a person. But instead you find yourself grateful that he'd been paying attention, which is immensely frustrating. "The only other Reader you've encountered outside of conducting a Rite would be Pfrumta, and bog-crones typically have a good instinct about when not to pry."

"Are you saying that Reading someone you just met isn't considered impolite?" You asked, and if you squinted, you could almost believed he looked a little contrite. Almost.

"...Not necessarily." He seems suddenly very intent on however much tobacco is left in the bulb of his pipe, pointedly not acknowledging the weight of your gaze. "My point is that the 'edge' I speak of only seems to pose a problem when interacting with-" You snort derisively, and he takes a moment to consider his phrasing, then amends "when mentally interacting with another Reader."

"So glad to know you've been studying me so intently." You mutter, gently closing the Book of Rites with a rustle of pages.

"I thought it best-"

"Could you _not_?" You didn't relish the idea of having to spell it out for him, but it was apparently necessary. "You don't get to make those sorts of decisions for other people, Volfred." 

After a moment of silence, he finally looks at you, and you hold his gaze as you speak.

"When you noticed there was something about me that you didn't understand, you should have done one of two things: One, told me that something was up so that I could be involved in trying to figure out the cause or, Two, stay out of my head because you didn't know me well enough to broach the subject, and wait for a good time to go for option One. Instead," You narrow your eyes, "rather than involve me, you began to...what, perform little trials and experiments on my mind, without my consent, fully aware that said actions would actively cause me discomfort? That..." After a few seconds of searching for the right word, something scholarly that would appeal to Volfred's intellectual integrity, you give up and go with, "That was shitty."

He snorts, but you don't think it was necessarily at your choice of words.

"I'm unaccustomed to being chided."

"Then you don't usually act like a brat with a magnifying glass, or you do and no one else has seen fit to call you out on it."

The two of you stare at each other in silence, and you seriously consider giving an extended speech on all the things he'd done that you didn't like, but...honestly, you'd said your peace, and you just didn't have the energy for, or interest in, an extended conflict.

"But," you say, shrugging, "what's done is done, and it can't be changed now. What were your conclusions about this..." you make a vague gesture in the air around your head, "this edge?"

"While I'm not completely certain," Volfred reasoned, shoulders visibly relaxing, "I can think of only one cause: that barrier I noticed, right after the Liberation rite."

"...Oh," you remember the sensation of his focus falling on something in your own mind that you hadn't realized was there until that moment, at the same time that you realized that you absolutely did not want him to investigate it, "I..."

"Acknowledging it clearly makes you uncomfortable," the Sap mused, "and, despite evidence to the contrary, it isn't really in my nature to force others to divulge their darkest secrets to me." You snort and he smiles, and the tension finally begins to seep out of the room. "But," he adds, inclining his head, "I do wish to ask one thing: do you remember making it?"

"Wait, what?" Initially, you're more startled than alarmed, because how in the world could you have done that? And why?

"Interesting..." He murmured, taking another long, contemplative drag from his pipe, regarding you through the plumes of smoke that seeped past his lips. Just as you're starting to get impatient, he explains, "the discomfort you feel when Read, and that another would feel Reading you, is clearly caused by the barrier," he shrugged, "or however you'd like to refer to it. The memory of your identity, who you were Before, is likely on the other side. Yet," he tilted his head, "it's not because the barrier is...out of place? It doesn't stick out, per say - I only noticed it after an extended period of time."

"So..." you prop an elbow on the table top and lean heavily against it, "you're saying that a Reader doesn't get 'snagged' on the barrier, but rather it's very presence makes my mind..." you tap a nervous rhythm on the table, "hostile to intrusion? Which, for whatever reason, I feel as well?"

"I'm wondering if your discomfort is actually some manner of feedback loop, pain leaking back from the 'intruder'," his lips quirked at the word you'd chosen, but he didn't seem to take issue with it, "but essentially, yes, that's my theory." He inclined his head toward you. "Thoughts?"

"...I don't like it." You muttered, slumping more fully against the table, eyes squeezed shut.

Volfred hummed, and you're certain you hear sympathy in the tone.

The two of you sit in silence for a good while, apart from the wind rustling through the trees outside, as you absorb this new information. It felt...weird, to refer to the structure of your own mind in such an abstract manner, as 'edges', 'snags' and 'barriers', but you couldn't think of a better way to do it. More importantly, if Volfred's hypothesis held any water, it was very likely that your swiss-cheese memory of Before was at least semi-intentional and by your own hand. Mental hand?

_My head hurts..._

"Can we talk about something else?" You mutter against the surface of the table. 

"Certainly." The Sap makes a broad gesture with his pipe, as if to indicate the scope of available topics, before standing a little straighter. "Perhaps a show of good faith on my part? You've endured my scrutiny, and it seems only fair that I extend the same courtesy to you." Smiling lightly, he leaned against the wall. "Do you have any questions for me?"

* * *

One evening, about a week and a half into your stay in the Moonlight Alcove, you wake from a nightmare - desperate to get away from some incomprehensible pursuer, a shapeless thing of a thousand faces, the instant before your capture shocking you back into the waking world - to see firelight outside. Your sleep-addled mind thought, if only briefly, that the trees of the grove were ablaze...but no, someone seems to have lit a bonfire. Once your heartbeat has returned to a more regular rhythm, you grab your crutch and quietly rise to investigate.

Nights on the mountain were cold regardless of the season, and you're more goose bump than person the second you step out of the wagon. About ten yards away from the wagon door is the fire pit Jodariel had constructed about a few days prior, and you can see the blonde sitting beside it now, loosely wrapped in her blanket and staring blankly at the heart of a well-fed bon fire. She didn't react the first time you called her name (or the second, or the third), and only seemed to realize that you were there when you got close enough to wave your hand in front of her face. Which was exactly what you did for about half a second, before she reflexively grabbed your wrist.

"Ah..." She blinked, returning from wherever her mind had gone, and looked at you for a moment in surprise before her brow furrowed. "You should be sleeping."

"I could say the same to you." You smiled sleepily, noting that with her sitting on a rock and you standing, you were eye to eye with her. A rare occurrence indeed.

Jodariel snorted but didn't argue, instead asking, "Did something wake you?" At this point she seemed realize she was still holding your wrist, something you'd been pointedly not thinking about, but rather than let go she shifted to hold your icy hand in both of her far warmer ones.

"Oh, you know," a cold wind suddenly picked up, "nightmares about being chased by unfathomable horrors and being too slow to get away. The usual."

Her frown deepened as you shivered, _just the cold, yep, no other reason_ , and after a moment she released your hand and scooted over to make room on the large rock she was seated. You accepted the unspoken invitation before you could psych yourself out of it, ears burning as you lowered yourself to sit on the bit of rock Jodi had vacated for you, spine ramrod straight.

_This is fine,_ you thought, _people sit next to each other all the time. That's a thing that happens, no big-_

Without fanfare, Jodariel lifted the arm nearest you and wrapped you in a one-armed hug that pressed you against her side and engulfed you in an ample section of blanket.

_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!,_ said your mind, only vaguely aware of a section of skin on Jodi's arm your hands fell on, and how it seemed to burn under your finger tips.

"How are you always cold?" She grumbled, glancing down as she shifted, pulling the blanket to get you completely covered. Once she was satisfied, she asked, "Are you saying that you have this nightmare often?" It took you longer than strictly necessary to answer, because being able to feel the vibration of her words as she spoke, on top of _everything else that was happening_ , was very **distracting**.

"I-I mean, if I'm gonna have a nightmare," you respond, trying not to think about her body heat, or how you fit against her, and _oh no you couldn't think of anything else, Reader who??_ "it's gonna be a nightmare about not being fast enough to get away from something bad. Probably some aspect of whatever I've suppressed about when I was accused of being a Reader and arrested."

You'd told everyone about what you and Volfred had concluded regarding your very-specific amnesia, but just acknowledging it aloud still made you feel queasy. You focus on that unpleasant sensation, trying to center yourself. _Don't make this weird, don't assume, Jodariel deserves better,_ but you can't finish the thought, don't want to give your anxiety the shape of 'better than you', but it settles into the pit of your stomach like a stone regardless.

"But it's not like I have nightmares every night, and the one's I do have don't usually wake me up." You try to sit perfectly still, as if too much movement or physical contact might be considered suspicious or untoward, but Jodi gives you a reassuring squeeze and you let yourself sag against her, resolve fizzling out. Did this count as taking advantage of her kindness, or accepting comfort offered? 

"And you?" You ask after a long moment of silence, eyelids suddenly heavy. "What brought you out here?"

"Restlessness."

You hummed curiously, hoping to encourage her to open up but losing the struggle to keep your eyelids open. However, you were still cognizant enough to notice the way she tensed when you shift and your leg touched hers.

You didn't shy away from the coarse fur.

She relaxed.

"So?" You asked softly, wary of pushing too hard. "Are you going tell me what's got you restless? Has waiting for the Rites to begin again left you feeling too idle?"

Jodariel didn't immediately respond, and you didn't even mind, because you were warm and comfortable, any lingering anxiety from your nightmare completely dispelled.

You were just a breath away from sleep when she spoke.

"I had hoped it would get easier," she said, so softly that if you weren't quite literally wedged against her you might not had heard, "but I..."

That wasn't necessarily the answer you'd been expecting, but you couldn't say you were surprised either.

"You miss Fae." 

The ensuing silence was answer enough, and suddenly you realized that it might not have been comfort Jodariel had offered, but rather comfort that she had sought. Warmth bloomed in your chest at the idea that the woman would seek comfort _with you_.

"The Commonwealth failed to recognize her worth before, and she isn't the sort to pretend she is anyone but herself." She said, and you didn't need to look up to know she smiled a little at that fact, even as it concerned it. "Perhaps it would have been better - safer, with..." she trailed off. When you looked up, she was staring into the fire once again. 

"With you?" You murmured, hoping to draw her back to the present and away from whatever specters her mind had conjured - which seemed to work, but you didn't immediately understand why she had started frowning.

"With  _us_."

_Does us mean the Nightwings? Or... **us**?_

You decided, not for the first time, that you were too gay to think about that right then. Instead, you said "Fae is young but...you know her the best of any of us, Jodi." You glanced up at the sky and couldn't help the smile that came to your lips, thinking of how Fae had loved to sit with you when you'd interpreted the stars. "She's strong. Stronger than me," which wasn't necessarily _difficult_ , but there was no need to make light of the compliment by bringing your self worth into it, "and, honestly? I think we've already done all we could for her." You gave Jodariel's side a playful nudge, and when she looked down at you you grinned broadly. "She's gonna be fine - she's gonna find Volfred's people, I'm going to send along a very strongly worded letter about how important she is, and...then we just have to let her take care of the rest."

"Sandalwood won't take kindly to you sending personal mail through his secret channels," Jodi retorted, but a corner of her lips tilted ever so slightly upward.

"Volfred will send my letter if I have to shove multiple copies into his mouth while he sleeps until he gives in and sends one."

_That_ elicited the softest 'heh' from Jodariel, hardly more than an exhale, and you were  _over the moon._


	13. Astral Interlude (Hedwyn & Pamitha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking comfort in the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuume referred to the last chapter as 'interlude material' and now i have to use the word in a chapter title. Does Astral interlude count as a reference to the Lunar Interludes from TAZ or is it just a blatant rip off
> 
> WHO KNOWSSSS i mean i'm sure someone knows and someone will probs tell me i'm excited for the opinions

"Do either of you know what those are for?"

You paused in your needle work and glanced up to find Pamitha standing beside the smudge of shade you and Hedwyn were sitting in. He looked up at her, then followed her gaze to the structures along the north edge of the Moonlight Alcove.

"They look like homes." The nomad suggested, and the Harp made a noncommittal noise.

"Perhaps, but they have quite an... _interesting_ design, wouldn't you say?"

You considered the structures - they were tall and cylindrical, but rather than having a floor-level door or typical window placement, each had large circular openings at least a story high, if not higher, with a few rickety ladders here and there as the only method of entrance. Well, the only method of entrance if you couldn't fly.

"Designed for Harps?" You guessed, eyes moving back and forth between the buildings and Pamitha. "They look fairly old, and big enough to house...well, a small community, if personal space wasn't much of a concern."f

"One of many luxuries my kinswomen don't typically indulge in," the Harp snorted, "but...what would call for their construction?"

"Exiled prisoners of war." Hedwyn said as if it were an obvious thing. You look over at him, startled by his bluntness, only to find that his eyes were back on sewing. And, if you weren't mistaken, his shoulders seemed a little more hunched than before.

"Are the Highwing Remnants so..." you made a vague gesture, searching for a word that was both accurate and unoffensive, "...numerous?"

"...Not anymore." Pamitha murmured, peering at the buildings with renewed interest as the three of you - or perhaps, you and Pamitha, as Hedwyn seemed to be three steps ahead in the conversation - came to realization that the buildings were, themselves, remnants of a time when the Highwing Remnants were simply the Highwings.

"There  _was_ a time when it was more common to exile captured Harps than it was to..." You trailed off, fully aware that you didn't need to finish the statement for your companions to understand your meaning. 'Executed' felt like too cruel a word to say in Pamitha's presence, and even if it wouldn't bother  _her_ , to even think the word while looking at her make you nauseous. How  _had_ she evaded what was now one of the Commonwealth's move favored punishments? As for the buildings, how old must they be that there were even enough Harps to be captured, exiled and aware of the Rites, and thus necessitate the construction of more permanent shelter? The few structures you'd seen when the Nightwings had passed through Highwing Cove had been  _shacks_ in comparison.

"Pamitha," you say, waiting until the other woman looked down at you before you continued, "if you didn't know about them, does that mean that your other exiled Harps don't either? Or could they be avoiding them because Mount Alodiel is so similar to..." you trailed off again, though not due to unwillingness to give verbal shape to some atrocious act, but rather out of confusion. You knew that the Highwing Remnants lived in a mountain range, but you couldn't recall what the mountain range was called. 

"I suppose I _have_ found myself comparing Mount Alodiel to Mount ________," Pamitha mused, but when she said the mountains name, you couldn't make it out.

Were you starting to go deaf? Was that yet  _another_ side effect of being a Reader in the Downside??

Blatantly unaware of your befuddlement, Pamitha continued speaking, "but I cannot imagine not taking advantage of such a tactically placed shelter."

Silence fell over the three of you again, during which you overtly stuck your pinky in your ear, testing your sensitivity to changing pressure. Your hearing  _seemed_ fine...was the mountain's name in a language specific to Harps? Hedwyn hadn't appeared confused, though...

"I think," Pamitha broke the silence, her usual smile coming to her lips once again, "that I'll go take a look around. Would either of you like to join me?"

You made a show of looking at the intimidatingly tall ladders, eyebrows nearing vanishing into your hair line as you looked back at her.

She quirked a brow right back at you.

You wagged your leg stump at her.

"Ah, " She said, pressing her lips together as if to convince you that she wasn't still smiling - which she absolutely was, and you were not fooled! 

"While my heart longs for adventure," Hedwyn chimed in, chuckling, "I'm just getting too old."

You and Pamitha eyed the man skeptically as you mutterd, "If Jodi hears you calling _yourself_ old, _she's_ gonna get self conscious, dummy," to which Hedwyn snorted derisively. 

"Well then," Pamitha dramatically stuck her nose in the air, still obviously smiling, "I'll just have to go investigate for _myself_." She spread her wings in preparation to take flight.

"Uh, wait."

She paused and peered down at you, brow quirked and wings still raised.

"They're still standing, but they're still really old," you wrinkled your nose at the structures, then looked up at her, "so just...be careful? If you land on something and it falls, we can't necessarily get to you quickly..."

Pamitha regarded you silently for a split-second, expression unreadable beyond what you sense is some manner of surprise, before her smile returned - expression minutely gentler. "Oh darling," She bent at the waist in what you think was meant to be a theatrical bow, but the position brought her face right to yours before she pressed a kiss against your cheek, "no need to worry yourself over me, but I'm touched all the same."

 _Oh_ was all your mind could supply before, with a swish of feathers and a swirling gust, she was gone.

"...Reader," Hedwyn said after a long moment, expression suddenly resembling that of a smug cat, "you look a bit red."

"I turn colors when I'm worried," you managed, unwilling to meet his eye and instead burying your nose in the task of sewing.

* * *

An hour, three pairs of mended trousers and a bandana used for embroidery practice later your fingers were stiff beyond functionality and Pamitha had yet to return from her excursion. Needless to say you were starting to get a  _little_ anxious.

"I haven't heard anything falling, have you heard anything falling?" You muttered, clenching and unclenching your hands in hopes of getting enough flexibility back to be able to actually grip your crutch. "If something crashed we would have heard it, of course would have heard it, but would we hear if she called for help? Maybe, uh, maybe I should get-"

"Reader," Hedwyn cut in, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your knee, "I'm sure she's just engrossed in exploring. Harp's can take care of themselves."

"You talk like you've known one other than Pamitha," you grumbled, even as you snatched the man's hand in both of yours, trying to focus on his presence instead of your overactive and grim imagination.

"My friend, have I not told you?"

You furrow your brow at his surprised tone. "Told me what?"

"...Huh. Suppose I haven't..."

"Haven't told me  _what_?" You yanked at his hand irritably. "I can't stop worrying and whatever you're hinting at sounds like a great distraction so please get on with it already!!"

His story was brief. It took barely five minutes to tell - meeting Fikani, their whirlwind love, leaving his post to find her again, and being labeled a deserter when his absence lead to the deaths of his entire unit - but by the end you're completely engrossed.

" _Hedwyn_ ," you said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "If you'd been tried for fraternization instead of desertion..." or, even worse, if  _Jodariel_ found out...!

The nomad simply shrugged. "My whole life has been shaped by the war - I honestly never could have predicted that I would live as long as I have - and I just..." He paused to frown at the ground before he continued, speaking more softly, "I would have traded all of my days of fighting for the Commonwealth for just an  _hour_ of the peace Fikani brought me."

His honesty made the moment feel suddenly intimate, as if you were intruding on a private moment between him and the love he'd been forced to leave behind, and you opened your mouth to share something of similar weight, to say...what?

That you got the appeal of Harps?  _No._ If Fikani was half the person Jodariel was, you would have run off with her too?  _Ugh, no, absolutely not._

Maybe you could ask if it was nice to only have feelings for one person at a time? Less confusing?

...You weren't ready to have the conversation today. Tomorrow wasn't looking good either.

 Before you can decide on something, you hear the rustle of feathers in the wind and the beat of wings, and Pamitha  _finally_ returns.

"You're ok!!" You practically shouted as the Harp landed, scrambling for your crutch so you could stand to greet her, only for her to sit heavily beside you - the impact of her sitting knocked a puff of dust off of her. "Ok and dusty!" You amended, extending the bandana you'd embroidered on. Rather than accept it, likely because she had returned with an unfamiliar sack that looked packed to bursting sitting on her lap that she had to brace with her wings to keep it from toppling over, the other woman leaned toward you. Surprised but undeniably pleased, you gently rubbed the bandana against her face, cleaning off what looked like a film of cobwebs, dust and grime.

"Did you roll on the floor?" Hedwyn asked lightly, yanking out various bits of cloth scrap he'd been using to patch trouser holes and setting them beside you.

"If you _must_ know," she replied with a prim upward tilt of her nose, "I had to squeeze into some tight spaces to explore fully, which  _might_ have involved shimmying under a bed or two."

"Beds? So we were right about them being living quarters?" You shook out the bandana, shoved it into the pocket of your cloak and snatched up one of the scraps Hedwyn had put beside you. "Tilt your head this way, you've got a bit of cobweb on your ear."

"They appeared to have been," she agreed, tilting her head toward you as instructed, "though however long ago that was, I couldn't guess." She paused as you gently cleaned off her ear, careful not to press too hard and risk bending the delicate point. Cobweb removed, she sat upright and finally tilted the bag she head in her lap forward, carefully emptying it onto the grass between the three of you.

"A book!" You exclaimed, absolutely delighted by the sight of the aged binding and worn pages. After a quick glance at Pamitha and seeing the woman make a 'go ahead' gesture with a slight unfurling of wing, you gingerly pick it up. "Ooooo," you cooed, running a delicate finger along the surprisingly intact spine, "this must have been made in the Downside - this is howler leather, like that pelt rug Jodi is so proud of - but they clearly knew what they were doing." You slowly opened the front cover and, completely forgetting your company, lifted the book so you could press your nose between the pages, breathing deeply of the dusty scent. "Sturdy stitching, I wonder how much the paid for this twine? It would have had to have been produced in the Common-"

"Do all Readers know this much about books?" 

"Huh?" You looked up with a start to find both Pamitha and Hedwyn watching you with varying amounts of confusion and surprise. "What do you mean?"

"That was all very...technical, my friend." Hedwyn elaborated, leaning forward to get a closer look at the book. "It looks like a Book of Rites, maybe a bit less mystical, but...it's still just a book."

"Just a  _book??_ " You huffed, "No no, Hedwyn, you don't understand." With a wave of your hand you beckoned him closer, flipping through the pages until you found a random page with an illustration, "Look at this! The pigment here is some sort of..." you paused to unabashedly sniff at the page, "some sort of plant derivative, likely from some berry native to the Downside, and, and," suddenly remembering that you had no idea how old the book was, you moved a bit more slowly, wary of dropping it or tearing the paper, "if you look closely, this paper is a different stock than the others! It must have been from a bit of paper that got smuggled down here, maybe to ensure that it held the pigment for as long as possible?  _Just a book_ , Hedwyn, I can't-"

"Has she been clipped?"

You tirade stumbles to a halt at Pamitha's question and the tone of her voice, which you would describe as 'forcefully cheerful', but when you look at her she's staring resolutely at the illustration you'd just been raving about, so you look back to it. It was a drawing of a Harp and, sure enough, her primary flight feathers had clearly been clipped. 

"Looks like it," you nodded down at the image, skimming the words on the other side of the page. Handwritten, of course, and in the first person? "Why does that stick out to you?" Any Harp in the Downside would have been clipped before being thrown into the river to wash down here, so it made sense to you that any images created by them or about them would display clipped wings.

"Just..." The Harp scooted closer and leaned forward to get a closer look, the point of her ear brushing your hair, "we don't typically depict ourselves as having clipped wings. Even down here..."

"Does it...Is it upsetting to look at you?" You asked softly, tilting your head to try and get a better look at her eyes, only for your movement to draw her eyes to yours.  _Babump, babump, babump._

"I...I suppose I'm just surprised by the honesty. Can you tell who wrote it?"

"Hm." You looked back to the book and flipped to the first page, which only held a single world, written in the dead center of the paper: Diary. "Looks like some sort of journal," you explained, skimming through a few pages before finding an illuminating section to read aloud. 

"They invited us to stay with them," you read, speaking slowly as you deciphered smudged ink and faded letters, "after the Rite. I've never seen one..." as you trailed off, you feel Hedwyn and Pamitha on either side of you, leaning in as if to catch any words spoken too softly to be heard otherwise. "I think this was written by a human."

"A human? Invited to stay with a community of Harps?" Pamitha leaned back as she spoke, tilting her head theatrically to one side, while you felt Hedwyn practically pressed against your side to stare at the book as if understanding might suddenly dawn on him if he only looked closely enough.

"Not just one human," you corrected, scanning the page, "a group. Perhaps a mixed group, but they said 'us', rather than 'me'."

"It would explain the ladders," Hedwyn interjected abruptly, eyes flicking from the book to the buildings and back again. 

The three of you thinking about the possibilities was a tactile pressure on your skin - images leak into the spaces between you, images of members of each race scaling the ladders or leaning out the openings in the walls to greet each other, images of a diverse community interacting and surviving in a harsh environment made tolerable by cooperation...could such a thing have existed?

Hedwyn's hope was palpable, practically a taste in the air, and you reached out to give his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. He didn't look up to catch your eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

"What does it say with the drawing?" Pamitha asked, leaning forward again. You pulled your hand back from Hedwyn's and hummed thoughtfully, flipping back through the pages until you found the illustration of the Harp in flight. Once located, you took a moment to digest the words. Much of it was faded, but one particular phrase had both withstood the test of time and jumped out at you when your eyes fell on it.

"She's beautiful in flight, but I know the memory of what she could once do aches like an open wound."

"Oh..." Pamitha murmured, staring at the illustration with sudden, painful understanding. "Oh."

"Whoever wrote this...loved her. Loved this Harp." Hedwyn concluded, but when you glanced at him you saw his staring at the drawing with eyes unseeing, a pained understanding of his own pinching his expression into a grimace.

 _This isn't what I expected to do today_ , you thought, staring at the page for a moment longer before gently closing the book and setting it back down with the other trinkets and treasures Pamitha had seen fit to bring from the ancient cylindrical buildings.  _And yet I feel oddly...gratified?_

A long minute of heavy silence passed before, concerned for your friends, you loudly cleared your throat - they both started, Hedwyn more obviously, and reflexively looked at you.

"While that was very interesting speculation," you said, squeezing Hedwyn's knee with one hand while resting the other on Pamitha's shoulder  _because you weren't brave enough to touch **her** knee_, "you've found many other interesting things. Won't you show us?"

 


	14. The Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time - I realized that some of the things I'd had drafted for this chapter wouldn't really flow well until after some more main story narrative, so I decided to put that stuff off a bit longer. The rate of chapter uploads will probably stay around once a week while I'm in school, but don't be surprised if I don't upload for a week or if I upload three times.
> 
> Life is a mystery and I have a terrible sense of how rapidly I'll write until I'm already doing it. OTL

Another nightmare had woken you,  _where is he, where have they taken him, please don't leave me alone again_ , and you'd shambled out of bed to work the stiffness from your limbs to find quite the interesting scene; Ti'zo sitting on the center table, staring dolefully at his stuffed fish which, for the first time that you can remember, wasn't tucked securely into his woven nest of sticks. Instead it had been laid on top of the Book of Rites, and sported quite an impressive tear down the side.

"Ti'zo?" You murmured, gingerly hobbling down the two steps from the bunk area and into the wagon's main room, blinking sluggishly at the scene.

The imp slowly looked to you, utterly crestfallen while emitting a noise akin to a soft, mournful keening - he'd shifted jerkily upon waking and had apparently snagged the stuffed fish on his nest, hence the tear.

"Hmmm..." As you moved closer and sat at the table you eyed the fish's 'injury', absently reaching out to stroke Ti'zo's back, "I think I can fix that. I managed to help mend things with Hedwyn the other day without much incident." At the imp's hopeful look, you gestured to the old chest beside Hedwyn's signature stack of pots and pans. "Think you could grab me some thread and a needle without jabbing yourself?"

You needn't have worried - for all his plump cuteness, Ti'zo is an unquestionably competent adult, and he's in and out of the chest with a spool of thread in one foot, needle in the other in less than a minute. As he flits back, mood already drastically improved, you can't resist giving him a sleepy smile.

Had you known how to sew Before? Hedwyn hadn't needed to show you how, when he'd asked if you could help him mend some things, but as you gently lifted the stuffed fish and started to sew the tear closed, you were certain you hadn't been the sort to sew things like clothes or stuffed animals. The sensation of pushing stuffing into fabric was unfamiliar, and the needle felt a bit smaller than it should be, but the motions of sewing felt almost second nature. 

"Hrrr-shki?" Ti'zo asked, clambering up your sleeve and cloak to half lay, half sit on your shoulder.

"Oh, a nightmare." You said, tilting your head slightly to affectionately bump against his, watching the uniform stitches left in the needle's wake. "I've been having them more recently, for some reason, but they aren't always the same."

"Rroooooomm..." the imp leaned against your cheek, the vibration of his verbalization a pleasant thrum on your skin.  _Sometimes, the others could tell._

"Ah," you felt your face warm, "do I thrash about, then?"

"Shkrii."  _Just sometimes._

"Well, that's..." you paused, testing the security of your stitching before knotting it in place and lifting the stuffed fish up toward Ti'zo. "Could you-"

The imp leaned forward and severed the excess thread with a decisive  _snap_ of his little jaw. Then, once you'd stabbed the needle into the top of the spool of thread, he returned it to the chest. Upon landing back upon the center table, he looked expectantly between you and his stuffed fish, which you still held aloft, examining the stitching one last time. 

"How does it look?" You asked when he started to vibrate impatiently, lowering your hands to set the plush on the table before him - at which he immediately flopped onto the fish and your splayed hands, audibly purring. Chuckling, you lifted your hands again to bring him closer to your face, moving more carefully to keep Ti'zo balanced across your palms even as he clutched your sleeves to keep himself secure.

"Want to go back to bed?" You eyed the doorway to the bunk area as you spoke, wondering if you'd have any luck going back to sleep or if it would be better to busy yourself with something useful. The imp considered for only a few seconds before chirping affirmatively but before you could reach your hands toward his nest, intending to shorten the distance he'd need to flit to get to his nest, he gently picked his fish up into his mouth and reached for your front. Puzzled but compliant you brought your hands closer to your chest until he managed to snag the front of your cloak in one wing. Claw. Wing-claw?

Ti'zo easily scrambled up your front and into the neck of your cloak, taking only a moment to get comfortable in the loose folds of fabric, as if settling into a wide hammock - leaving you pleasantly surprised, but also uncertain if you could move around without dislodging him.

"Hrrfmm?" The imp asked, tapping a claw lightly against your throat.  _Aren't you going to sleep?_

"I...don't think I can." You admitted, resting a hand on the lump of fabric he was nestled into. "Would it jostle you if I walked around? I think some fresh air would do me good."

"Skroooo." Ti'zo chirruped,  _secure enough, wake me if you need company_.

* * *

He was still sound asleep a few hours later when Rukey and Gilman found you staring at the sky and sitting on a rock thirty minutes away from camp - or, thirty minutes by your standards, probably less than ten by theirs - and as they approach you press your pointer finger flat against your lips.  _Shhh._

"The honorable Greentail and this knight were worried about you!" The wyrm stage whispered, slithering rapid circles around the rock you were seated on.

"I mean," Rukey looked off to the side, not bothering to speak softly while idly scratching his chin, "we weren't  _panicking_ or anything, sister, but. Sure didn't expect to find you all the way over here."

"Restless?" Gilman suggested, any intent to stay quiet already forgotten. "In good spirits? Are you ailing? How fares your leg?"

You snorted at the knight's rapid and varied guesses and, worried he'd wear a path in the grass at that rate, you reached out a hand to pause his circling. "I wanted to walk off a nightmare, and just lost track of time." You kept your voice low, but apparently conversation was all Ti'zo needed to finally wake up from his nap. He stuck his head out of your cloak, yawning widely enough that the side of his horn pressed against your jaw.

"Oh, there's Ti'zo. Thought it was weird that his fish was gone too." The cur padded closer as he spoke and hopped up so his front paws rested on the rock, allowing him better access to peer at your face. "Maybe, uh, don't wander off in the middle of the night without saying anything, sis? You're gonna give me gray hairs."

"Aren't you...?"

"In my  _mustache,_ " Rukey clarified with a huff that visibly plumed in the cold morning air. "Now hows about we go back before tall, blonde and brooding stages an aggressive search party?"

You weren't immediately certain how an 'aggressive' search party compared to a regular one and if,  _maybe_ , your heart beat a little bit faster with guilt that you'd apparently worried everyone rather than elation that you'd specifically worried Jodi. 

_Bad Reader,_ you mentally chided,  _Very bad. Focus._

"Why don't you guys go ahead to let her...let  _everyone_ know that I'm heading back?" You kept your face carefully composed, ignoring Rukey's snort. "It won't even take you guys half as long to get back as it'll take me-"

"It wouldn't be right to leave you all alone!" Sir Gilman exclaimed, as the same moment that Rukey retorted: "As if."

"I won't be alone," you explained, gesturing to the still drowsy Ti'zo, "I've had Ti'zo with me this whole time. And..." you regarded them few a second before grinning, "And I'm kind of curious to see who's fastest."

"...What?" Rukey asked, tilting his head, ears perked.

"I'm curious which of you can get back the fastest," you clarified, grin broadening as you watched Gilman and Rukey look at each other with matching expressions of, ' _Me, of course_.' You didn't have to say anything more - the second they realized that the other had already assumed their own victory, the two were gone, Rukey's laughter and Gilman's shouts of encouragement and gentlemanly taunts echoing in their wake.

"...Frmmm?" Ti'zo half asked, half yawned.  _Did they really just fall for that?_

"I mean, I actually  _am_ curious," you said as you picked up your crutch, wedged it under your arm and stood. "And, you know, the time Jodi spends worrying is directly proportionate to the time Jodi spends glowering, so..."

"Hrsh-kiii."  _I'm too awake to buy that._

"Give me a break," you muttered with feigned annoyance, theatrically rolling your eyes, "you're too cute for anyone to get mad at, you just don't know what it's  _like_ to be the target of her..." your voice trailed off as you searched for the right word, after a minuting hazarding "Her annoyance? That doesn't seem right..."

"Shki?"  _Disappointment?_

You groaned and nodded, "Yes,  _that._ Stars above, Jodi's disappointed face is the  _worst._ "

What took you thirty minutes to walk the first time took you nearly 45 the second time, and even with Gilman and Rukey running ahead to let everyone know you were ok you were able to verify that  _yes, J_ odi's disappointed face was _still_ the worst.

 


	15. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something short and contemplative en route to the first rite of the second in game cycle. As is the trend I have no beta reader and also am kind of lazy and loosie goosie, so feel free to point out any misspellings or mistakes you see but plz don't take it personally if it isn't fixed soon.
> 
> OTL I have a test on Tuesday and I really need to study but I also REALLY want to write more gaaaaaay ;A;

About a month and a half in, Volfred set his spoon down and pointedly cleared his throat at dinner to get everyone's attention.

"Taking into consideration past cycles," the Sap steepled his fingers in what you'd long come to consider his signature thinking pose, "it is highly likely that the next cycle of rites will begin anew within a week."

"So soon?" you mused, even as the murmurs of the other Nightwings coalesced into a cloud of 'about time' that hung in the air - which only made sense, considering each of them had been in the Downside for years before you'd arrived. 

"As such, I've taken the liberty of contacting some of my agents to make adjustments to the wagon in preparation for speedier travel. I thought it prudent to warn you all that you might see them about."

"Like, what? Bigger wheels?" Rukey asked from your left, ears perked despite his incredulous tone.

"Nothing so banal."

* * *

 _Nothing so banal_ , he'd said. 

"Volfred," You muttered, the first of the group to speak since the Sap had ushered the lot of you outside for the 'demonstration' of what his agents had done to the wagon, "there's no way your people  _built_ this, from scratch, onto the wagon...unless it could always do this??"

"Wait," Hedwyn grumbled, "do you mean to say we could have flown over the sea, rather than sail across it?"

The Sap shrugged lightly, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "It wouldn't be much of a test of the new Nightwing's resolve if they could fly about the Downside from the very beginning."

"I'll take that as a yes..." You tried to hold onto your frustration at the reveal that there was yet  _another thing_ that Volfred had seen fit to hold back from the rest of you until he saw fit to share, but...but the wagon could  _fly_ and that was the  _coolest thing_ you'd  _ever heard._

* * *

 Ti'zo had had to help you open a window - well, two windows, because the imp was of the opinion that opening just one mid flight was a dangerous idea - and once it was open, you gestured wildly but quietly for Pamitha to join you. She was the only one other than Ti'zo and yourself that was still awake and lingering in the main wagon room, and even though the door to the bunk room was closed you were wary of waking the others.

"I don't need to be directly beside the window to appreciate the fresh night air, darling." She said, smiling as she joined you beside the open window. Ti'zo chittered something that sounded awfully close to ' _Pamitha has wings, she can keep you from toppling out'_ , which,  _rude_ , then flitted to his nest and settled in.

"I know that, Pam, but-"

"Pam?" Both of the Harp's eyebrows shot up with surprise,  _is that a good reaction or a bad one_ , and you blanched.

"Oh uh, it's. You know, a nickname? Um," You stared at the wagon's floorboards, "if that's not ok, I-"

"No." Pamitha cut you off and you started nodding hurriedly, because  _of course_ you'd overstepped a boundary, but presumably noting your alarm she added, "It's fine. More than fine, I was just. Surprised." 

The two of you stand there in silence for the several seconds it takes for you to compose yourself.

"Well, uh, Pam," you chanced a glance at her face, and breathed deeply as you took in her smile, shoulders relaxing, "I actually wanted you to see-" you turned, leaning against the wall for support so that you could stick both arms out into the night air and point below, "this!" You withdrew one arm and gripped the windowsill, intending to move to the side so the Harp could get a look without feeling crowded - but instead she casually stepped right against you, front flush against your back, chin on your shoulder and wings on either side of you.

Below lay the Glade of Lu and the eternally blossoming tree that grew there, gnarled roots entwined with the calcified remains of Limbless Arizech. The foliage was a luminescent pink cloud in the moonlight, much as it had been that night you'd lain splayed below it.

Which were all very pretty words you definitely thought in that moment, rather than an approximation of an internal, wordless squeal.

"Hmmmm..." Pamitha hummed, the vibrations of which seemed to seep right through your clothing and into your bones, "it  _is_ quite lovely. If you're looking for a sight in the Downside that would be appropriate to compare me to, I wouldn't mind this one."

"Ha ha," you retorted as if you weren't acutely aware of the sensation of feathers brushing against your clothes, "there's no need to go fishing for compliments, Pamitha, you're gorgeous and everyone knows it."  _Keep talking, don't pause, pausing is awkward, ke **ep taLKING**_ , you cleared your throat, "It's just pretty and I wanted you to see it."

"Such a thoughtful woman you are, darling." Her tone retained it's teasing lilt, but even as she leaned her head against yours, you felt as if she was suddenly miles away. Minutes went by in companionable silence as the Glade of Lu gradually flowed past. Then, as a cool breeze flowed over your faces and into the wagon interior, Pamitha murmured "If I close my eyes, it's...almost like Before."

To you, 'Before' meant 'before memory loss'. The others, 'Before' presumably meant 'before exile'. To Pamitha? You could hazard a guess at several possibilities; before exile, before being clipped, before being estranged from her sister. Perhaps all three at once, or something else entirely that didn't immediately occur to you. And yet, despite your lack of concrete understanding of the context, you felt ardently familiar with the statement's intent, and murmured your agreement.

"...So," Pamitha said as the blooming tree began to resemble an increasingly distant glowing cloud, "were you hoping I wouldn't notice your distraction?"

"What ever do you mean?" You replied, carefully modulating your voice, as if that was a thing you were capable of doing covertly.

"We both know what lies due east of the Waking Wood, darling." She didn't sound  _upset, per say,_ but as she turned her face toward yours and spoke into the fractional air between her lips and your neck, your heart raced. "No need to be coy."

"I. I don't think I know how to do that, actually." You admitted, biting the inside of your cheek. "I guess...you've been a bit quieter. Ever since you explored those buildings in the Moonlight Alcove, I mean." One part of you worried that this conversation betrayed how much attention you paid to her habits, but another was thinking too loudly about the way Pamitha had looked at the illustration of a clipped Harp in flight to care. Had she been thinking about how many of her kinswomen had been clipped, or how she'd directly lead to the clipping and exile of her sister, her sister's entire unit as well as herself?

"Thoughtful  _and_ attentive? Darling, I dare say your method of  _wooing_ is frighteningly effective."

You heart hammered in your throat and you simultaneously wanted to pull away and turn into her, but...you weren't the only one trying to distract.

"You don't have to talk about, if you don't want to," you murmured, "but I'm not gonna pretend I haven't noticed." You could only guess at what went through Pamitha's mind in those long stretches of her quietly standing at the edge of group, alternatively staring at the cylindrical homes or south, toward Highwing Cove. Regret? A yearning for a, if not simpler, more concrete understanding of her role in the war and in the waning narrative of her people?

Waxing poetic when you were nervous would have to be added to the ever growing list of your anxiety driven bad habits...

Pamitha's breath wreathed around your throat as she sighed. "You haven't been poking around in my mind, have you?"

" _No_." You say, more harshly than you'd intended, before taking a deep breath and amending, "Because a) I wouldn't do that intentionally, and b) I don't need to be a Reader to see how much you care about..." About the war. About every person who suffered because of it...About her sister. You paused your mental musing and peeked at her out of the corner of your eye, and drew strength from the familiar expression of how she had to press her lips together to suppress her usual smile. "You care a lot, Pam, and  _trust me_...I get it."

You were prepared to leave it at that - expected it, even - but Pamitha was full of surprises.

"I'm not  _against_ talking," the Harp said, pressing her wings lightly against your sides in what you chose to interpret as a Harp approximation of a casual hug, "if you think you can resist your bed for a little longer."

"Not to toot my own horn," you said, "but insomnia  _is_ one of my more prominent skills."

"...Alright," she muttered, "then what I meant to say is, I'll only talk if you promise to go lay down afterwards. Deal?"

That deal sounded suspiciously similar to something Jodi would say, but you have enough of your wits about you not to actually say that observation aloud.

"Deal."


	16. Storytime

You hadn't expected for Barker to accept your offer of sharing a camp for the night, given the loss of...whatever exorbitant amount of money Rukey had owed him, as well as a chance to extort double that amount, if he hadn't been defeated. On top of that, Rukey hadn't seemed keen on the idea of offering the invitation at all -  _"What if he gnaws off my legs in my sleep?!"_ \- but all the same, you approached the Dissidants's wagon before it could roll out of the shadow of the Lord Gandroth's fossil.

And yet...

"Well you got a right set of manners on ya!" Barker grinned widely, then shouted over his shoulder, "Oy, Charson, Marly!! We're campin' here for the night, the Nightwings've invited us to supper!" 

"I-"

"You  _are_ treatin', right? You  _did_ invite us?"

"I mean-"

"Hah!" Barker's grin widened even farther. "I'm just yankin' your chain, we've got stuff to share. It'll be like a potluck!"

And then he was gone, vanishing into his wagon while he and his team members crashed about the wagon, shouting and howling with glee. You stood there a moment, catching your breath, only to jump when the cur stuck his head out again. "How's about you get that cook of yours? Word's been going around that you and Ignarius's lot got chummy up on Mount Alodiel, and first thing they apparently said was about how lucky you all were to have such gifted chef." He paused, and you squinted at him, trying to discern the meaning behind his expression. Besides Rukey, who's mustache exaggerated every expression he made, and Dadb- _DALBERT_ , who constantly had an air of 'As the Scribes will it' about him, Barker was the first cur you'd really gotten a chance to look at with their mask off.

Would you call his expression thoughtful? Uncertain?

"Hey, uh," Barker continued abruptly, eyes on a large rock off to your left, "the bog-crone..."

"Pfrumta?" You supplied, tilting your head, and he nodded.

"Yeah, Pfrumta, she was sayin' that you lot's chef was, uh, real handsome?" His ears swiveled back and forth rapidly. "But you and Rukey are the only ones I've seen without masks so, uh, which one is it?"

* * *

"This is he," You said with a grand sweep of your free arm, leaning heavily on your crutch to keep stable while gesturing at Hedwyn, who'd hurried over when you'd called, "the handsome chef."

"Wait, what?" The nomad asked, blinking rapidly.

Barker nodded, muttering something under his breath about owing a snake woman thirty sol, then jerked his head toward the interior of the wagon. "Well don't stand about, get in here! We've got a couple things we'll offer for dinner, if you can figure something to do with them."

Once the cur was out of sight beyond the wagon door, Hedwyn quirked a brow at you, asking softly, "The Handsome Chef?"

"Apparently," You grinned, "Pfrumta thought you were handsome enough to  _tell other people_ about it,  _and_ bragged about your cooking!" Snickering, you hobbled ahead, carefully hoisting yourself into the Dissident's wagon. Technically, Barker had only invited Hedwyn, but...you were curious.

You stopped in the doorway, so stunned that you didn't realize you were blocking the doorway until Hedwyn placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Are you feeling well, my friend?" He asked, leaning in to speak softly as if afraid to draw attention to any discomfort you might be feeling.

_There were so many books._ On every shelf, scattered across every surface in groups of three or four,  _several stacks_ were just shoved into corners of the room, and you'd never seen so many books in on place since, since...

_Oh,_ you thought,  _I have...Before, I guess?_

"Oy, what's the-" Barker appeared from a door two steps up to the right of the entrance,  _wait, how big was this wagon_ , but paused as he saw your expression. "Heh, admiring my collection?"

"These are all  _yours??_ " You exclaimed, finally moving forward enough for Hedwyn to squeeze past, concern palpable in his every movement until he realized what had gotten you so worked up.

"These...aren't all copies of the Book of Rites?" He half stated, half asked - none of them resembled the Book of Rites, of course, but you couldn't blame him for being confused.

"Nah, that'd be dumb," Barker snorted, "these are all payments, for this, that and the other thing." He padded over to join you as a second cur, with light brown fur and a mottled scar over their right eye, followed after him out of the side door. "Marly," Barker bobbed his muzzle at Hedwyn, "show the Nightwing's cook that bag of roots we dug up, will ya?"

"Huh," The cur, Marly, eyed Hedwyn, "you  _are_ pretty handsome. This way." She headed off toward the back of the wagon, not waiting to see if Hedwyn followed - he did, though clearly while muttering that he had a name, and it was not related to his appearance or his skills.

"So," Barker piped up, pulling your attention back to him, "got questions?"

"Of course I do!" You made a wide sweep with your arm to indicate the wagon's entire main room, "How did you  _get_ all these?? Have you read them all? Can...Can  _I_ read some?"

Barker sat beside you with a snicker, "You know how Greentail got in hot water for smuggling? Well, that's my bread and butter down here." You nodded along as he explained that plenty of exile's have family back in the Commonwealth that will pay good money to get them supplies, family that paid with enough Sol to keep his operation running smoothly. But there were other clients that didn't want to send stuff down, they wanted things  _from_ the Downside.

" _From_ the Downside?" You interrupted, shifting a bit to try and find a comfortable spot to wedge the top of your crutch into that would keep you standing. Apparently noting your discomfort, Barker stood and padded over to one of the book-covered tables, nosing out a stool that'd been tucked under it - you hurried over and sat, sighing with relief.

As you got comfortable, Barker explained "The higher ups, you know, they're  _real_ interested in the Downside; bits of plants from the Waking Wood, vials of whatever nasty green stuff is all over Flagging hands, even bits of the Titan corpses, if we can manage to break anything off that doesn't immediately disintegrate."

"Huh. Why do they...?"

"Beats me." Barker yawned widely, one ear flopped to the side. "But they don't pay in Sol. They gripe and bicker about it, but I can get Sol from any client. So..."

"So you get them to pay you in  _books??_ "

"Why not?" The cur grinned. "Apparently the literacy ban doesn't apply to them and lots o' them are  _real_ book lovers."

Frowning, you reached out to one of the books on the table top and, at Barker's nod, lifted the book to get a better look. At first glance you'd thought it was well made but simple, but the moment your fingers touched the binding you realized that it had been  _finely_ made. Bound with soft leather and stitched neatly with...a derivative of silk, perhaps? The thread had been dyed to match the color of the binding almost exactly, and if you blinked you had to locate individual stitches all over again.

"Do they...make them themselves?" You asked absently, gently opening the front cover. The only thing you might guess was intended to be craftsman's mark was a meticulously scrawled _B._ , written in looping calligraphy. Wondering if the book was written in such fancy script, because that would likely be both immensely time consuming and practically impossible to read for long periods of time, you idly flipped to the center of the book. And nearly dropped it.

"This. Was.  **Printed!!** " You sputtered, "With a  **stamping** **press**!"

Barker nodded casually, as if owning and operating a stamping press wasn't an equally, if not more heinous crime in Commonwealth than literacy; You'd felt light headed when Volfred had said he'd once operated one, and it was a miracle that they'd let him live...Something that, given how the Commonwealth had changed, you doubted would happen to any others that were caught operating a stamping press.

"They're too busy to  _hand write_ all the books that are grounds for exile for everyone else," Barker huffed, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I wanted books, and they wanted Downside shit." He shrugged. "Everyone's happy."

"Wait," You looked up from the book, brow furrowed, "Does that mean you're the Dissidents's Reader?"

"What," He snickered, "I ain't snooty enough for ya? I've always been a rebellious sort and what's more rebellious than learning to read?"

You couldn't argue against that, but you found that you couldn't necessarily agree, either. You hadn't learned to to read to 'stick it to the man', but because...

_"This is a weapon, a weapon that can never be stolen or lost."_

_"But I **hate** weapons..."  
_

"Reading just wasn't what they caught me doin'," Barker continued, oblivious to the sudden quivering of your hands,  _a memory?_ "Can't imagine the colors they musta turned after exiling me for pissing on a statue, only to find a few old books in my house."

"I think I can use these for a stock," Hedwyn said as he walked into the room, holding a burlap sack that bulged and swayed with his every step, "or cut and steam them to be eaten..." His eyes fell on you, on your expression, and he trailed off. "...My friend?"

Barker looked at you then, ears perked. "Your lookin' real green around the gills, mate. Didn't know books made you  _that_ excited..."

"N-No, I..." You carefully set the book back down on the table,  _who had that been? Was that second voice mine? I sounded so young,_ "Just a little light headed, I think..."

Hedwyn hurried over, setting the burlap sack down against a table leg, and reached for you. Still trembling slightly, you placed your hands in his, and let him pull you to standing.

"Marly," Barker jerked his head at you, "make sure the Nightwing's Reader doesn't kick the bucket before she can get back to her wagon. You, handsome guy-"

"Hedwyn." The nomad interjected.

"Hedwyn," Barker smirked, "you carry the bag of roots, I'll go grab our bowls so we have enough for everybody." Then he turned, shouting, "Charson, where the bloody hell'd you get off to? Hurry up and snag our biggest pot, it's time to prep for supper!!"

When the nomad opened his mouth to argue, you put a hand on his arm to stop him. "I'll be alright," you murmured, blinking slowly against an abruptly developing ache behind your eyes, "just feeling a little woozy. You know me, it just happens sometimes."

You waited for him to nod and once he did, albeit a bit reluctantly, you slowly hobbled out of the wagon, Marly close behind you.

* * *

Within three minutes of returning to the Nightwings's wagon, you'd been asked (read as: told) to lay down and rest until dinner was ready, which you submitted to without a fuss. You didn't recall falling asleep or even feeling truly tired, but the next thing you knew, Rukey was beside your bunk, nose pressed to your cheek.

"Feeling any better, sister?" The cur asked, leaning back so you could sit up. You nodded, rubbing your hands over your face. "Dinners ready, whatever those roots were that Barker and his buddies offered up turned the soup kinda purple, but it actually smells alright."

"Everyone play nice...?" You asked, trailing off as you yawned wide enough to make your jaw pop.

Rukey huffed in amusement. "Yeah,  _mom_ , I even shared my toys just like you always tell me to." You chuckled and look out him, but paused at his sudden, far away expression.

"...Rukey?"

"I told you about how I ended up down here, yeah? While we were waiting for the stars to show up again?"

You nodded, easily recalling the morning you'd woken up to find the cur gazing forlornly at the family photo he kept with his things.

"I just...with my debt with Barker settled, I've just been thinking..." His ears went flat against his head, and he looked away. "No, I shouldn't..."

"You've been thinking about home." You finished for him, reaching out to stroke his neck. He rested his head on your bunk and made a glum but affirmative ' _mhmm.'_ "Rukey, I...I'm not some all knowing super being. You've all decided to let me choose who goes in the liberation rites, but...but that doesn't mean I'm the  _only one_ who gets to talk about it."

After a few moments of silence, the cur glanced up at you, sheepish yet hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You shifted, turning your body so you sat at the edge of your bed, foot on the floor. "You want to go home?"

"Mostly, I just miss my mama." Rukey admitted, lifting his head from the bunk just to rest it on your thigh instead. "My uncles can't convince her I'm just away on business forever, but...I don't know if I'll be able to give her a nice life, like I did smuggling. Especially..."

"Especially if you dedicate yourself to Volfred's plan?"

Rukey didn't verbally respond, but his heavy sigh was answer enough.

"We'd understand, you know."

The cur lifted his head, ears perked. "Would you?"

"Yeah, Rukey. Who could fault you for putting your family first?" You smiled, but his expression suddenly soured as he flopped his head back onto your thigh.

"You're my family too,  _sister_. You're all my family too."

You weren't certain what to say to that, so you just pet his head, and he seemed content to leave it at that. The two of you sat in silence for a bit until Rukey abruptly shot up, yelping "I was supposed to bring you to dinner!! Oooh no, Jodi's gonna get worried and get  _mad,_ should I-"

"You go ahead," You snorted, "I always take forever to get up anyway." The cur bobbed his head and scampered out of the room, calling as he went that you were up and you'd be along soon enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember when exactly Volfred tells you that the Voice is Archjustice Androbeles IX i.e. Brighton, and I can't find the exact time in my notes, but I'm PRETTY SURE it's...later??


	17. 2,190 Etches

Your group had made camp the night before a rite at the Nest of Triesta, against the Fate, when you realized you hadn't seen Jodi since landing.

"I thought she went to get firewood," Hedwyn answered nonchalantly when you asked, only to pause and glance to the side at a pool of lava burbling only 20 yards away, "for...later?"

"From the Waking Wood?" You pressed, because he knew as well as you that that was the nearest source of lumber and easily a three day trip westward by wagon, let alone by foot.

"I'm sure she's around," Rukey said when you found him in the wagon, checking over the raiments for tears or smudges, "maybe you're passing her by without realizing it."

"Are you...implying that I could just  _miss_ a large, horned blonde woman? It's not as if she blends in with the molten rock. Or the lava. Or all the  _Harps_ flying around!"

"I mean, she's got the temper to fit in with at least  _two_ of those things?" 

You gave one of the cur's ears a light but petulant little tug, and at his playful snap at your hand you turned tail and made of show of hobbling away at 'top speed'.

"The Honorable Jodariel  _did_ pass on our sparring match today!" Sir Gilman exclaimed when you asked him, though he didn't stop in his...push ups? 

Were they still push ups if they consisted of him holding the entirety of his body upright, perpendicular to the ground, while hopping up and down? Tail...hops??

"Did she say why?" You asked, your eyes flicking up and down so you could maintain eye contact with the wyrm while you talked,  _up, down, up, down, up, down_.

"When I inquired after her health, as  _surely_ that would be the only reason the Honorable Jodariel might cancel a scheduled sparring match, she explained that she was worried about  _my health!"_ Gilman huffed and puffed with exertion and his usually banana-yellow body was getting noticeably pinker, "She said that she worried about pushing me past my endurance, and suggested that I spend today exercising and stretching instead!"

You furrowed your brow, not having to move your eyes up and down as quickly as Gilman started to run out of breath and hop with a little less vigor. "Jodariel said... _that_ many words?"

"Well, no, not quite," the wyrm finally paused to sag onto the ground and wheezed out, "she suggested I find something more important to occupy myself with.  _BUT!!"_ He shot upward with sudden, renewed vigor, shouting "I understood her intent!! The Honorable Jodariel is a fair woman of few words!!"

You...honestly weren't sure if you agreed with his translation of what Jodi had actually said to him, but you couldn't argue with his assessment of her either.

"Frrmmmm?" Ti'zo murred from his woven nest, only one eye cracked open to look at you.

"Before you took your nap?" You clarified, and the imp hummed affirmatively before his eye slid closed again.

When you found Tariq sitting on a lump of volcanic rock, he somehow simultaneously managed to be both the most helpful person thus far whilst also maintaining his unofficial position of mysterious-music-man by inclining his head in the direction he'd presumably seen Jodariel headed without speaking or pausing in his lute strumming.

You found Volfred in the bunk area, nose deep in one of the books Barker had been willing to part with, but when he didn't hear you call his name you decided to leave him to his reading. Which, of course, left you with only one more person to ask.

The drive-imps confirmed your suspicions about Pamitha's location, so you hobbled out of the wagon and as far as necessary from it so that you could see the Harp lounging on the wagon roof.

"Pam?"

She glanced about for a moment before her eyes feel on you, and she raised a wing in greeting.

"Have you seen Jodi?"

"...Why?"

You frowned. "Because I...don't where she's gotten off to, and neither does anyone else? Why did you answer like that, you weirdo??"

Pamitha's shoulders gave a little heave of breathing deeply before, with a flutter of wings, she came to join you on the ground. "I suppose I'm a bit wary of sticking my foot in something foul, darling."

"Could you be, maybe," you pursed your lips, "a little less obtuse?"

She chuckled at your expression, then shrugged. "Forgive me, being so near to where I last saw..." she trailed off, eyes unfocused for a few seconds before she remembered herself and turned her usual smile on you, "Well, I'm feeling a bit off, and the conversation I had with your dear Jodi earlier hasn't helped."

**_My_** _dear Jodi?_

"I last saw her once we'd landed, right after I decided to go sit on the roof." Her eyes flickered up, to the sky, then back to you. "I noticed her looking at me, without a  _scowl,_ much to my surprise, but when I asked if she'd finally been won over by my beauty, she told me to hold my tongue and stomped off." Pamitha shrugged. "She's shy, I think."

"That's a word for it," you muttered, tilting your head from side to side as you thought. While Jodariel remained openly antagonistic toward Pamitha,  she hadn't seemed bothered by the Harp's teasing before. "Did you see the direction she went?"

Pamitha gestured in the same direction Tariq had indicated: South, toward the Sea of Solis.

"I guess I'll start there, then," you mused, shifting a bit to get a more secure grasp on your cane before turning in the direction Pam had indicated - only for the Harp to catch you with a wing extended in front of you.

"Darling, surely you don't intend to just wander in a direction in hopes of stumbling across her?"

"Nnnoooooooooo," you lied. Pamitha huffed.

"Well, regardless of your intention, you absolutely will  _not_ do that. You have no idea how far she's gone, or if she might have passed through to go a different direction without my seeing."

"But I'm. I'm worried?" 'Probably South' was the best information you'd gotten thus far, and...and your brain kept conjuring images of Jodariel having fallen into some crag, or drawing the ire of a Harp scouting party. Things that you wouldn't be able to help with, really, but finding out was better than sitting around, uncertain and anxious. "I won't be gone long enough to miss the Rite tomorrow, I promise."

Pamitha pressed her lips into a line. "That's not-"

"Reader?"

You turned with a start to find Jodi standing less than 20 feet away, visibly no worse for wear. "Jodi!!"

The demon furrowed her brow at your tone, then glanced at Pamitha. "Harp, what-"

"No no, nothing's wrong," you interrupted, hobbling toward her without realizing it, "I'm just glad to see you!"

Something fell over Jodi's expression, there and gone too quickly for you to discern, and as you reach her you have to crane your neck to get a clear view of her face.

"Where'd you go? I was worried!" You were too relieved to see her to worry about coming across too strong, at least for the moment, and you reached out to touch her arm as if physical touch was concrete enough evidence as to her well-being. She reflexively caught your hand, and the warmth surprised you like it always did.

Behind you, you heard Pamitha say something about getting back to what she was doing, followed by the sound of feathers, the beat of wings and the creaking of the wagon roof.

"I was...remembering." Jodariel explained, looking down at your hand in hers for a second before letting go. "Today is an anniversary."

"An Anniversary? Of what?" You smiled despite how heavily you sagged against your cane, the worry that had been powering you for the last hour rapidly seeping away. "It's...It's not your birthday, is it?? Oh, Scribes, I didn't-"

"No," the blonde interjected, "it's..." she trailed off, staring down at you. "Let's sit."

 You half turned toward the wagon, "Sure, dinner should-"

"No." Jodariel looked off to the left and, after a few moments of silence, gestured toward a pair of large, closely grouped bulbous lumps in the volcanic rock. "I...do not wish to. Draw attention."

You refrained from mentioning that you'd already asked all the Nightwings if they'd seen her, so not only had her absence been noticed by the others, but it would seem even more odd the longer she hung about without actually joining the rest of the group. 'Shy', as Pamitha had referred to her, suddenly seemed more accurate than you'd initially thought.

Once you were both seated - or, once Jodariel gave you a little boost so you were seated comfortably on top of the curved stone formation rather than leaning awkwardly against it - the demon explained what today was: the sixteenth anniversary of her exile.

"Sixteen  _years?_ " There was little else it could mean, but the number seemed bafflingly high in this context - especially to you, given that you hadn't even been in the Downside for a full year. Yet. "But...you look so-?"

"I have come to the conclusion that the transformation has somehow repressed the aging process." Jodariel murmured, sitting with arms crossed, eyes closed. You wished, not for the first time, that you actually remembered your age, and that it was close to hers. Maybe, if leaving the Downside reversed the process, as you assumed, then...what? Then the two of you might be around the same age whenever she began to age again? Volfred had made it clear enough that you would never be fit to participate in the Rites, so...such thoughts were cruel. Equal measures hope and impossibility, both of which you suddenly found yourself unable to stomach.

Jodariel's hand drifted to her breastplate as she said that she'd kept track of the days by making notches in the metal. You squinted at the armor piece, glad for the distraction from the self-deprecating tone of your thoughts, and all the scratches and marks that you'd initially assumed to be normal wear and tear revealed a uniformity that you hadn't noticed before.

The details she gave were sparse - fostering the children of her unit mates when they died in battle, one day coming across a group of young Harps that were laughably easy to capture, receiving the order to capture them, letting them go and then turning herself in - and you hung on to every word. In the back of your mind, you wondered if Pamitha had known those young Harps, had celebrated their return. You wondered if they had admitted that they were captured and then set free by a kind woman with a stern face, or if they claimed to have escaped unaided.

"But now," Jodi muttered, drawing you out of your thoughts, "I don't know if I would make the same choice again."

You scoffed and, despite yourself, when the woman fixed you with an affronted look the scoff turned into a snort which turned into an outright laugh, shaking you as you lifted your hands placatingly. "Sorry, sorry," you managed, regaining your control, "I just...Jodi, I never imagined you would say something so unaware. Do you see yourself so unclearly?"

Jodariel's upper lip twitched in the briefest snear. "You presume too much, Reader."

You ignored the warning in her tone and scooted forward, managing to slide off the rock without hurting yourself so you could hobble closer. Jodi watched you, expression dark, but made no move to stop you. Smiling, still riding a bit of the high from finding her whole and safe, you reached out and tapped on the metal of her breastplate, over her heart.

"If my math is right," You said, subtracting the five years of Hedwyn's exile from Jodariel's sixteen, "you were on your own down here for eleven years, right?"

Despite her lingering displeasure, she rewarded you with a slight inclination of her head.

"On your own, changing, struggling. But as Hedwyn tells it, you're the same woman who used to pick him up, dust him off and soothe his scraped knees. You loved Fae the moment she appeared and needed you. And, for all your bluster, you let Pamitha join."

Jodariel inhaled deeply, scowling at the ground, but you barrelled on before she could muster up an argument.

"You argued, sure, but not as much as you could have. You never do, when it comes to this group. This  _family._ " When she didn't looked up you tightened your grip on your cane and bent at the waist, trying to catch her gaze - and when you lost your balance and stumbled, she caught you but the shoulder and righted you, without a second thought. 

You smiled when your eyes met. "You think the others don't notice how hard you try, to not to be frightening? To not throw your weight around? I've only ever seen you use your strength in defense of the people you care about, yet you think if you were faced with a cage full of children you were told to kill, you wouldn't make the same choice again?" You scoffed again, but this time Jodi didn't look nearly as offended as before. Instead that same, indecipherable expression settled on her face, and you looked away for fear of your curiosity reaching in for answers without you really meaning to - so your eyes fell back to her breastplate and this time, when you reached out, you laid her palm flat over her heart, fingers splayed.

"Face it, Jodi, your heart is just too big to abandon anyone like that. Sometimes, I'm surprised it even fits in you at all."

Silence descended upon the two of you, heavy with something that made you self conscious, but when she moved to pull away she caught your hand. You stared at her hand engulfing yours and wondered, suddenly, how many times she would catch your hand before it was her turn to be liberated. 

"You say such things." Jodi said. She spoke softly, like she had that night by the far in the Moonlight Alcove. You latch onto the memory, to keep from thinking about being left behind. "Yet you are far kinder than me. Than any of us."

You almost look at her face but stop your eyes on her chin, on her dimple.  _Is she frowning? Or, perhaps, maybe, is she-_

"Pardon my intrusion," came Tariq's cool, unassuming voice from behind you. You jump, yanking your hand from Jodariel's on reflex so you could pivot to find him regarding you with one of his too-wise smiles. In the next second it was gone, and he bent in an almost-apologetic bow. "Dinner is ready, and the others were concerned about you both being absent."

"O-oh, right," you swallowed, heart hammering, "I thought it might be done soon." You glanced back to Jodi, "Should we, uh-"

"We should." The demon replied, though her eyes remained on Tariq.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure do love interruptions, don't I??


	18. To N, courtesy of F

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been sitting on this idea for a bit.

"READER!!"

Your half swivel, half hop motion of alarm threw you from your seat at the center table, and when your friends race in they find you sprawled on the floor, dazed.

"You napping?" Rukey asked, tone incredulous as he padded closer and snuffled at your face.

"Yeah, I  _love_ sleeping on the floor," you muttered, patting his side with one hand while stretching your other arm up into the air, "help?"

Jodariel easily lifted you and deposited you back on your chair, and the second you were seated again your friends pressed in, everyone speaking at once: "She made it!" "Fae's alright!" "A letter, a letter!" "What does it say, Volfred said it's from Fae!" and "Skriiiich!!", or  _Read it read it read it read it_!!

"A letter?" You asked, and a thick, heavy and partially opened envelope was pushed into your hands. As you turned it over to see 'To N, courtesy of F' scrawled in neat cursive on the back with several cute doodles of birds and clouds, Pamitha shifted behind you and dusted you off. "How did this get here?" You peered at the cracked seal. "Was it intercepted?"

"A messenger imp just brought it," Hedwyn explained as he sat across the table, "Volfred immediately recognized it, so it must have been an imp that he and his people use often?"

"He said it was probably from the Illustrious Fae," Sir Gilman elaborated, coiling himself around your ankle and the legs of your chair as he spoke, "but when he made to open it-"

"It wasn't  _his_ to read." Jodariel interjected, looming over the group with arms crossed, jaw set. You looked up at her face to see her eyes trained on the letter with a soldier's focus - or maybe a mother's - and reached out to place a hand on her arm, drawing her eyes to your face instead.

"Are you telling me that Volfred started to open the letter and you took it from him?"

" _Took_? No." Rukey snorted from where he sat beside Jodariel's hooves. "More like snatched, or plucked, or yanked - I can think of lots of better words." The cur snickered. "Right out of his hands. I'm not sure if he was more surprised or appalled."

You looked back to Jodi's face to find both corners of her lips quirked upward in one of the brightest smiles you'd ever seen from her.

"It was quite dashing, darling." Pamitha added from right behind you, before pressing against your back and resting her chin on top of your head. "Knightly, even."

Jodariel cleared her throat, and gestured to the letter. "Regardless. If you would?"

What you thought might have been particularly heavy card stock that caused the envelope to feel so dense turned out to actually be an average size envelope packed  _full to bursting_ with neatly folded paper. Your ran your finger tips along the edges of the first page - made by a professional but not with a machine, just straddling the line of hand-made roughness and synthetic smoothness. Repurposed from old letters, perhaps, if the faintly darker smudging that started about half an inch into the paper from each border was an indication. A water soluble ink on water resistant paper would-

"Darling?" Pamitha asked, her voice both an audible sound and a tactile vibration against your hair. "No need to keep us in the dark."

"No, sorry." You took a deep, steadying breath.  _Be still, my beating heart...where have I read that?_ "Just admiring the paper. Just a second..." You scanned the front page for a moment, then added "Looks like after Fae met up with Volfred's agents, they asked her for an eye witness account of her experiences in the downside as well as a status report of how she perceived the plan to be progressing and...clearly didn't know what they were getting into." A few fond murmurs and chuckles pass between your companions.

Ti'zo gracefully alights on the table, then flops against your elbow. "Hrssshkiiii?"  _What does it say?_

You read them the first few paragraphs, which covers the basic details of what Fae experienced in the months following the Liberation Rite: being offered wealth and comfort by Commonwealth officials, turning it down, and wandering about in much the same way as she did before until meeting up with Volfred's agents.

"How close did she come to getting exiled a second time?" Pamitha mused, wings pressed firmly against your back. Uncertain how to respond, you just leaned into her, then continued reading.

The rest of the letter, i.e. everything after the first few paragraphs, was what you could only describe as paraphrased transcribing of what Fae wanted to say to each individual Nightwing. After each transcribed section was a little doodle of whichever Nightwing the prior section had been addressed to, undoubtedly drawn by Fae herself and the first of which you discovered on the back of the first page. The first section was 'addressed' to Ti'zo, and largely consisted of asking that the imp take care of everyone, to not eat things that barely fit into his mouth and to "please, pretty pretty please, make certain that everyone gets all of the imp snuggles they need to flourish in the downside". That last sentence was actually written in quotations, and followed by a note that read,  _'was instructed to use precise phrasing, F unable to clearly explain how 'imp snuggles' positively contributed to the mental health of exiled persons.'_ The doodle of the imp that followed the written section was arguably a simple layering of blue and red smudges and horns and wings drawn on with ink, but you couldn't help but stare at it. A plant pigment, most likely, but very concentrated to have retained such vibrancy. Had Volfred's agents actually provided the pigments? Had they crushed and mixed the colors themselves??

"Hriifmmmmmm!" Ti'zo purred, agreeing to only  _two_ of Fae's requests.

The second portion of the letter was addressed to Tariq, who Rukey had to go fetch. The minstrel strode in, looking, maybe,  _if you squinted_ , a little surprised, and you motioned him over and read the paragraph addressed to him. When you'd first read it over, you didn't quite understand what was being communicated; it wasn't written in sentence format, but instead like a...poem?

"A song?" Tariq asked, soft voice lilting upward with what you interpreted as amusement.

"Maybe?" You squinted at the words and read them aloud a second time, more slowly.

_"Single Scribe Eye, shining_

_walk in Their prints in the Dust_

_I descended to Witness_

_now I Witness until Witnessing Ends"_

An inquisitive silence fell in the wagon as you frowned at the drawing of Tariq that followed the paragraph - two thick smudges of metallic gold pigment, presumably meant to be the minstrel's eyes, but with no other lines or marks. The rest of that side of the paper was purposefully left blank, which quite literally meant that Fae's artistic rendering of Tariq was just two gold circles in an otherwise stark white space.

"Uhm, Tariq-"

The minstrel interrupted you with a light chuckle and a few experimental strums of his lute. "A kind gift, indeed." Then he strode out, as quietly and gracefully as he had come.  _Mysterious Music Man, you never cease to confuse._

"Very spooky," Rukey muttered, ears swiveling back and forth, "but he's always spooky. Keep going!"

You read the following sections to the group and showed them Fae's 'rendering' of them, though none were as abstract as her doodle of Tariq had been, until you got to the second to last page which had four separate doodles with a single sentence beside each - you could only imagine that Volfred's agents were only willing to accommodate to a certain point. That point being nearly eight sheets of paper and access to several stunningly vibrant pigments.

At the top of the last page was a pale dot, wreathed with corn yellow with a curled, midnight blue line that ended in an impressively tapered point jutting out of either side.

"Thank you, for being my Mother." You murmured, and you could feel something warm bloom in Jodariel as surely as you could feel the paper in your hands.

Next was a brown dot, a thick black line curled along the bottom right edge and both 'sitting' on a tan triangle. Beside this, perhaps an addition by the transcriber, was the mark of a reader.

"Thank you," you paused to center yourself with a deep, stuttering breath, "for giving me back my name."

Then was a thick cluster of lines in various shades of green and dark brown, arranged into an upward facing cone. Here, too, was the mark of a reader.

"Hey," you glanced up from the letter, "I think this bit is for Volfred. Should we get him?"

"He  _might_ be a bit miffed about earlier.  _Maybe_." Rukey retorted, nervously twiddling his mustache. 

"Krooo," Ti'zo chirped,  _I'll get him_ , and fluttered up and out the wagon door. He returned almost instantly with Volfred in tow - had the Sap been listening from just outside the wagon? - and returned to his spot slumped against your elbow.

"Was some of my mail actually addressed to  _me_ , my girl?" Volfred asked without looking up from stuffing the bulb of his pipe, as if this was only a fleeting concern. 

**_Definitely_ ** _miffed._

"Fae wrote," you looked back to the letter, "thank you for giving my purpose a shape."

The Sap froze, just for a second, then placed the tip of his pipe against his lips. A hiccup of otherwise smooth motion.

... _Less miffed._

The last doodle on the page was a square red shape, with a white line arching out of the top on one side.

"Please bring my family safely home to me, little brother." You read aloud, smiling fondly at the words. No one else referred to the wagon as 'little brother', of course, but you'd had no idea how much you'd missed hearing it. In small letters came another note presumably added by the transcriber: ' _F exiled with blood relative?_ ' You chose to ignore it their confusion.

You and your companions sat in silence for a few moments, letting Fae's well wishes and the news of her safety sink in, until Sir Gilman asked in a stage whisper, "Pardon this knight's presumptuousness, Honorable Reader, but is there not one more page?"

"Oh, right..." You moved the final page to the front of the stack, initially assuming that it might be an official status report directly from the agents to Volfred, but instead the page held the two most detailed drawings yet of, unmistakably, Almer and his father Dalbert of the Fates. "May the Scribes watch over you," you read aloud, eyebrows raised. It was the only text on the page, but you felt...kind of bad, for having read it, as if you'd read a private correspondence.

...Had you?

"Ooooooo," Pamitha shifted her chin from your head to your shoulder, her cheek pressed against yours as you peered more closely as the drawings, "a love letter?"

"Maybe?" You tried to focus on the letter instead of how hot your face got. 

"We should deliver it." Jodariel stated.

"I agree," Hedwyn said, "but after the Rite, or Dalbert's son will accuse us of trying to distract him."

"Awwww." Rukey said from your side, having scooted closer and wedged himself half against you, half against Sir Gilman, the latter of whom was still coiled around your ankle and the legs of your chair. "Puppy love!!"

You had no idea if that counted as a pun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally had to look up a reference on the exterior of the Nightwing's wagon to make sure I had the colors right..I hope my descriptions of Fae's drawings made sense, in as much sense as word descriptions of a visual medium can make :P


	19. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the rapid fire updates and then abrupt absence, it's been hard to find the mental energy and time to dedicate to writing while also finding time to study and perform well at work. You know, boring life stuff :P This chapter is a little weird because I may or may not have gotten rusty and also there's just a few things I want everyone to think about.

It became apparent that, like many elderly parents, Dalbert delighted most in talking about his son.

"He's a very sweet boy, you see." The aged cur stated, speaking with a serious tone akin to how he invoked the Scribes. "Under all that bluster and frustration."

The young man in question was conspicuously absent from the group, having vanished into the Fate's wagon with Fae's letter, an oil lamp, and a stick of hard writing charcoal that had been wordlessly given to him by Tariq. You could only assume he intended to sketch something on the blank side of the parchment - when the Fate's Reader, a dark skinned woman by the name of Enia, offered to transcribe a response for him, he made a disgruntled noise and shut the wagon door on her.

"Is he always so..." Hedwyn's sentence trailed off with a hum as he gestured vaguely in the direction of the Fate's wagon, "...irate?"

Dalbert shook his head 'no', then elaborated, "Just a bit shy and easily overwhelmed."

You're not sure when exactly it started, but as the minutes passed, the conversation fell to a pleasant yet distant-seeming din despite you literally sitting in a circle with the others as they talked. That sense of malaise and numb emptiness you'd come to think of as after effects of the Rites was particularly powerful tonight, and you only erratically felt like an inhabitant of your body as opposed to an outside observer.

When you looked at your hands, you saw that you held a bowl of rapidly cooling whatever-that-root-was stew, but your hands felt empty. Despite you sitting on the ground with your back against a rock, every time you closed your eyes it felt as if the world was sluggishly swirling downward - a skewed facsimile of the sensation of disentangling yourself from your body to be able to oversee a Rite. 

' _I was afraid of weapons,_ ' you thought as the maybe-a-memory, maybe-a-daydream you'd experienced in the Dissident's wagon came bubbling to the surface. You tried to shoo it away, as you'd been doing so diligently in the days since it came to mind, but it seemed to dance just beyond your finger tips without actually going anywhere. ' _Are the nightmares memories, or just echoes?'_

"Darling?" 

The bowl in your hands, the voices of your friends and feathers brushing the back of your hand.

"Darling, come back." Pamitha repeated, voice low and close to your ear. 

"Sorry," you mutter, wanting to rub a hand over your face but uncertain if you could hold onto the bowl with only one hand, "I'm here, I'm here." 

"Oh, are you really?" A rustle of magenta feathers and your bowl is on the ground beside you. "I must have imagined you silently staring at your food for over ten minutes. Without moving."

You stare at your now empty hands,  _clench, unclench, clench, unclench, clench,_ before finally lifting them to rub against your face.

"You didn't even realize." Says the Harp's voice, and you know it isn't a question.

When you hollowed yourself out to make room for everyone else, to make room for the Scribes and the Orb and the Pyre, where did your bits and pieces go? You'd just assumed that they'd find their way back, that they always found their way back, but did they? Maybe you were losing things, bit by bit, like you'd lost your memory. Maybe there was less of you now, less than there had been before.

What would be left of you, when everyone else-

Feathers on your skin.

"I  _told_ you to come  _back_ ," Pamitha chided, pressing the bend of her wings on either side of your face and forcing you turn your head and look directly at her, "so come  _back_ already. It's unbelievably rude to keep a lady waiting."

You blinked, and realized everyone else has stopped talking.

"There you are," The Harp said as your face starts to burn, a startlingly gentle smile on her lips for a split second before she turned her usual, effortless smile toward everyone else. "She's back."

"You sure like to worry us, sister." Rukey griped amiably from a few feet to your left - your face was still firmly in Pamitha's grasp (wing grasp?) and you couldn't turn your head to make a face at him.

"S'not fair to say I  _like_ to." You protested, struggling to calm your galloping heart as Pamitha looked directly at you again because her face was  _very close_ and technically so was  _everyone else_ and was it hot out here or was it just all the  _magma_?

"Do you really expect me to believe that, Darling?"

"But I'm a  _terrible_ liar." You said, because it was the only thing you could think to say.

* * *

Enia, of all people, seeks you out the next morning. The other Reader finds you a little before sunrise, sitting on a rock not far from the Nightwing's wagon to watch the stars flee the sun's encroaching light.

"Do you always rise so early?" She asks in lieu of greeting.

You snort. "Not always, but more and more often as of late. Maybe I'm getting old?" Which was a safer response than  _I'm having repetitive and progressively worse nightmares as my mind tries to put itself back together or tear itself apart_. Had you always been this dramatic before breakfast?

Enia squinted at you. "Do you always bullshit so early?"

You laugh, she smiles, and then the two of you exchange pleasantries for a few minutes before she gets to what she sought you out to talk about.

"Is it always like that for you?"

"Oh," you blink, "well," you scratch your neck, "yeah."

"Is it because you don't participate in the Rites, like the others?" She tilted her head at you. "Like I do?"

Which...hadn't actually occurred to you, until she asked. Every other Reader you'd spoken to, from the other triumvirates, seemed more or less normal after a Rite. But, at the same time, Volfred never seemed surprised by how Rites affected you...or, if he was, he never saw fit to share.

You briefly consider being annoyed, but quickly decide that it isn't fair to blame Volfred for every aspect of your  _unique_ Reading experience.

"I don't really know," you admit, "I never really thought about it like that. I guess I assumed the hollowness was...normal?"

"Hollowness?" Enia wrinkled her nose. "I don't feel hollow after a Rite, I just feel...bigger."

"Bigger?" You asked.

"Bigger," She repeated, "More. Like I go from one of me to three of me, but also none of me because..."

She trailed off, and the two of you stared at each other for a few moments in contemplative silence.

"...Reading in the Downside is  _so weird_." She finished, brow furrowed.

 You nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it apparent that they were still in the area around the Nest of Triesta? It's been like a month since I last updated and I stayed up way too late typing this so that I could finally post a chapter. 
> 
> Also, woah, what's that? In the distance? A whole pile of matches, maybe? Do all the matches say OT3 on them???


	20. Sometimes Things Happen Way Too Fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO...I graduated this past Friday and now I am a FREE BITCH with FREE TIME and AVAILABLE MENTAL ENERGY so I was finally able to sit down with the draft that I've been kicking around and UM?? IT'S OK. I really wanted to start this conversation with these characters but it feels sort of awkward but I think I'm just out of practice writing.
> 
> REGARDLESS I HAVE RETURNED!!!!!! Show of hands, who thinks the Essence will stick around for a fun sleep over with the Nightwings? Hm? Anybody??

Almer had been hesitant to give back Fae's letter, as if you were just as likely to eat it as you were to send it, but a pointed look from his father finally got the letter in your hands.  _Technically_ you'd just be handing it over to Volfred, as it would have to be carried by one of the resistance's imps, but the Sap overtly avoided interacting with the other triumvirates, so you were content being the go-between.

Dalbert pointedly cleared his throat, and Almer's ears reddened as he bobbed his head and muttered a curt, "Thank you."

That had been several hours ago and, as the wagon landed as near as possible to the Spring of Jomuer, the site of the next Rite and the first against the Essence since the first cycle, you'd yet to approach Volfred to ask him to send the letter along with his next batch of missives and directives. It wasn't that you expected him to make a fuss about it, per say, but you  _also_ intended to ask him about his theories as to why your recovery after a Rite appeared to be equal measures arduous and unique, in comparison to other Readers, and you hadn’t yet mustered the energy or courage.

Again, not because you expected him to be unwilling to discuss the matter, but-

_'You're thinking quite loudly today, lovely Reader.'_

You frowned and, for an instant, wondered if this was some new manifestation of whatever was going on with you...but then you heard the slightly echoing chuckle. 

_'You always startle so easily,'_ Sandra teased, and the Beyonder Crystal seemed to glow more gently than usual when you glanced at it,  _'perhaps because you think too deeply? You might drown in that head of yours, if you aren't too careful.'_

Fae's letter - well, Almer's letter - shook in your hands, and it took you a few seconds longer than it should have for you to realize the sensation was actually the quivering of your own fingers. You slapped the letter onto the table without thinking and clenched your hands against the top of your thighs, breathing hard.

_'...That was a joke.'_

You narrowed your eyes at the crystal - an image of Sandra came to mind every time she spoke, but not in such a way that it appeared the woman was physically in the room. At first, you'd needed to hold the Beyonder Crystal and close your eyes to be able to 'see' and hear her clearly, but now you could communicate from nearly any spot in the wagon, regardless of whether or not the crystal was in visual range.

Regardless, you tried to be in the same room and actively  _look_ at the Beyonder Crystal when you spoke to Sandra because...well, a) otherwise it felt like the phantasmal woman was actually  _in your head_ , and b) Rukey had alerted you that if you talked to Sandra when you were in another room, you tended to talk out-loud which was, to paraphrase the cur's description, unsettling.

You felt Sandra following your train of thought with something akin to amusement, before _she_ noticed that _you_ had noticed.

_'...Lovely Reader,'_ Sandra continued,  _'you remember why I'm here, yes?'_ You recalled her saying that her entrapment had been a punishment from the scribes, a thought which she interrupted with a curt,  _'No, not how I got into this...situation. I mean my purpose, as a wraith of this prison.'_

You blinked at her wording - Sandra had never been vague about her frustrations regarding her imprisonment, but it felt as if she hadn't openly discussed it since...well, for a while.

The image of Sandra in your mind's eye fluttered a hand in the air,  _'While I admire your quick mind, Lovely Reader, try to be quiet for a moment?'_

You frown, you hadn't been talking aloud-

_'You know what I_ mean _,'_ She said with just a touch of huffiness,  _'just...listen to me. I've been in this crystal, watching fool Nightwing upon fool Nightwing throw themselves at the Rites since the beginning. And yet, you are the first to speak to me as an individual, rather than a talking practice dummy, isn't that sad?'_

_'I-'_ You began, only for Sandra to hush you with a quick  _'I didn't_ literally  _mean to only be quiet for a moment, keep listening!'_

The two of you sat in silence for a breath, the weight of Sandra's focus heavy against your face as you tired, and failed, to Read the gently swirling green smoke within the Beyonder Crystal.

_'...As I was saying,'_ Sandra eventually continued,  _'you have been a uniquely pleasant Reader to cooperate with, so I suppose I could answer a few questions.'_

"Talking to that spooky Beyonder lady?"

"Sandra," you said, blinking away green spots in your vision as you looked from the crystal to Rukey, who had appeared at your side, "her name is Sandra. She was...I have some questions, I guess."

"Oh, sorry Sister, think they can wait?" The cur's ears swiveled back as he lowered his head a few inches. "It's about time to start setting up, yeah?"

Your eyes flickered to the window behind Rukey and, sure enough, the landscape no longer rolled past, and the sun was just beginning to set. You...had no idea how long you'd been sitting at the main table.

_'I'm sorry, Sandra, can I...can I still ask later?'_ You looked from Rukey to the Beyonder Crystal, and smiled when you felt Sandra still lingering near the surface of the seemingly fathomless mist.

_'It's not as if I can run off while you're away, Lovely Reader,'_ Sandra replied with something similar to frustration, but you couldn't tell what exactly the feeling was directed at.  _'Go show off your skills as a puppeteer, hm?'_ And then she was gone.

"...Still there?" Rukey asked after a few seconds, eyes moving between your face and the Beyonder Crystal. "Her, I mean."

"I mean, I think she's always there?" You watched the swirling green mist slow into what you'd come to recognize as something akin to dormancy. "I could ask her later, but I think it has something to do with the whole 'semi-eternal-and-not-physical' existence thing and I don't know if consciousness really means the same thing for her as it does for-"

"You're hurting my brain!!"

_"Enough."_

You started with a flutter of your hands, nearly knocking the Beyonder Crystal from the table with the sudden and irrational assumption that everyone had been standing about impatiently for you to stop talking without you realizing, but the others weren't looking at you. Rather, they were watching Jodariel storm toward the door, already dressed in her raiments - you reached out with a confused "Jodi?" and managed to catch the edge of her cloak.

Much to your surprise, she paused to look over her shoulder at you. You blinked back at her.

“Ah.“ Pamitha said from behind you, and you craned your neck to find her standing in the doorway to the bunk room. For a split second she looked just as surprised to find Jodariel still in the wagon as you felt, but her expression smoothed when she caught your eye.

A heavy silence lingered in the wagon for nearly a minute before Rukey, still beside you, broke it was a speculative “Uhm?”

You spared a quick glance back to the window at the setting sun, and guessed that there was only an hour at most to resolve...whatever was happening.

”So,” you said, looking warily between Jodariel and Pamitha, “what happened?”

The two women looked everywhere but each other and attempted to speak at once, creating a nonsense cloud of “I just-“, “She-“, “Not her-“ and “-absolutely refuses-“ in the air over your head. 

From where he’d been napping in his nest, you distinctly heard Ti’zo make a few hissed complaints that you concisely interpreted as _Just a few more minutes_ , which gave you the impression he wasn’t fully awake.

”That’s enough.” You stated, half expecting the two women to just keep talking, but they heeded you. Which would have surprised you if they also hadn’t both looked at you, and the combined force of their attention distracted you from being surprised. You cleared your throat and stared at the hand you still had clutching the edge of Jodariel’s cape - anchoring yourself physically to the fabric in your hand and the wagon floor beneath your foot, to keep from being distracted.

You fought not to be distracted by how easily you got distracted as of late, and only barely managed.

”One at a time,” you said with a firmness you didn’t quite feel, “or I can’t keep up.”

They eyed each other over your head silently, long enough that you thought they might both refuse to speak further in each other’s presence.

Then Jodariel muttered, “The Harp started it.”

”Then Pamitha goes first!” You huffed, ignoring the weight of Jodariel’s eyes on your hand on her cloak.

Pamitha gave a prim little ‘ahem’ into her wing, then explained in rapid but sparse detail: How she’d off-handedly mentioned the burning of the old capital, The Spiral Sanctum, under the watch of Jodariel's old unit. How her exile might have been the only reason she yet lived.

The displeased noise you made in your throat was echoed to your right, and you realized that Hedwyn had come to stand beside the center table to engage himself in the conversation - which was a blessing, because he was infinitely better with people than you were. Judging by the furrow of his brow and the displeasure fizzing around his hands, you guessed that he was thinking the same thing you were; that Jodariel would have rather been with her unit to defend the old capital, and possibly perish with them, than live to hear about their deaths in her absence.

And yet, you doubted that he made the same, additional conclusion that you had, which was that it sounded like Pamitha had been trying to say that she was  _happy_ that things had turned out as they had. That Jodariel had been exiled to live another day.

Pamitha was happy that Jodariel was alive.

”Pam,” you muttered, “for such a smooth talker, you’re...kind of bad at expressing yourself.”

”I certainly am _not_.” The Harp’s lips rapidly shifted from her usual smile to a frown then back again as a mixture of amusement, relief and annoyance leaked into the space around her.

Being an Empath wasn’t all that helpful when all you got was the feelings but none of the REASONS.

“And Jodi?” You said, looking back to the demon, who was still staring at your hand on her cloak. Was she trying to will you to let go? “Do you have anything to add?”

Jodariel finally met your gaze, frowning. You tried not to stare at her chin dimple and failed.

”It was not her _place_.”

You squinted at her, _The Commonwealth wasn’t her home, or she had no right to talk about Jodariel’s past, or...?_ Then, realizing you didn’t want to open _that_ can of worms just yet, you instead asked “How did you two even get to this topic?” Which was your way of asking how long they’d managed to speak before one of them got pissed and stormed off, ‘one of them’ almost always meaning Jodariel.

After a pause, during which you looked between the two women expectantly, you were surprised to hear Gilman speak up from beyond Pamitha.

”This Knight accepts responsibility for this hostility,” the wyrm said as he slithered past Pam with a soft ‘pardon me, Honorable Pamitha’ and into the center room, “I attempted to engage both experienced warrior’s in conversation simultaneously.”

”Gilman, you're...you didn't do anything wrong by trying to talk to them both at the same time.” You glanced at Jodi and, fairly certain she wouldn’t run off without warning, released her cloak so you could face the wyrm fully. “I mean, despite evidence to the contrary, we _are_ all a _team_ and a _family_.”

Jodariel grunted something that sounded affronted, and you blatantly ignored her, instead extending your arms toward Gilman. The wyrm slithered forward without pause and leaned against you as you gave him a firm squeeze. Once the air around him felt less...sludgy, you released him and looked back to Pamitha, though when you spoke the message was for everyone.

"We all have reasons for being a little on edge. The Essence are a formidable triumvirate, and some of us have...baggage."

Behind you, Jodariel snorted, and you jerked in your seat to point at her with as much menace as you could muster - and if you squinted, you could  _almost_ convince yourself that the demon looked contrite.

Almost.

"I'm talking about you too, Jodariel." She blinked, seemingly affronted. "And I know we all said we would let you move at your own pace with the whole, y'know, 'accepting' Pam as a member of the group thing, but...it's been  _months??"_

Something hard and cold fell over Jodi's face, and you could feel Rukey's and Hedwyn's mutual alarm buzzing against your sides as the demon again moved to walk out.

"Jodi, you  _can't_ keep walking away from conversations that you don't want to have!" You said, and hearing the desperation in your voice made you realize how fast your heart was beating, made you notice the rush of blood in your ears, as you stared at her retreating back. " _Jodi,_ " you were standing,  _when had you stood up,_ "you don't have to talk about it right now, but the Rite-"

The wagon door slammed behind her, the vibration traveling across the floor and up your leg, and you fell back into your seat.

Someone spoke. A muzzle against your thigh. Feathers against your back. You closed your eyes, and tried to feel less tired.


	21. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I've been fighting with this chapter for a month because i couldn't figure out how to start it and it's tiny because i finally got this scene how i like it and my WIFE won't let me WORK ON IT because she wants to spend TIME WITH ME and i'm an antisocial DICK who can't spend TIME WITH PEOPLE while I WRITE.
> 
> But yes here's a little mini bite sized chapter to tide you guys over until i get to basically the second half of what what supposed to be this chapter but is now going to be chapter 22 weEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
> 
> My wife has asked me to include this note
> 
> "I'm sorry I'm distracting >:3c"

_Shingles beneath your feet, cold night air on your skin. You’d taken your shoes off for better grip, but the chill crept up your legs and lent a fresh ache to the everpresent dull throbbing in your knee. Bending it hurt, made you want to wretch, but there was nothing to vomit and you needed to bend both legs to keep your balance._

_You step, eyes fixed on your reflection in the glass of the dark attic window only ten feet ahead, and you don’t see the bare patch of roof. You don’t see how dark it still is from yesterday’s rain, dark enough that even in the slivers of moonlight that seep past the clouds it resembles an impenetrable puddle of shadow._

_You step, and-_

“Reader.”

Your eyelids flutter open to a dim room with a familiar shape, silhouetted against sparce light filtering in from...somewhere. Groggy but calm, you clumsily grab at the dark until your head hits cloth over something firm. The top of the familiar shape moves, turns toward you, and you realize you’ve pressed your palm flat against Jodariel’s cloak and back.

”Jo-“ you start with a croak then stop, cough, and try again, “Jodi?”

”I’m sorry to disturb your rest.” She murmured, head still turned fractionally toward you. You spent a good fifteen seconds trying to understand the dimensions of the situation before you remembered crawling into one of the lower bunks and realized Jodi must be sitting on the floor with her back against it. “Should I...?” She shifts as if to lean forward, assuming an answer to a question she hadn't even fully voiced.

”No,” you half said, half yawned, scooting closer to the edge of the mattress, “it’s fine. I’m fine.”

She made a noise you interpreted as incredulous, but she settled back against the side of the bunk all the same, facing forward. In the moments of silence that followed, you noticed that the flickering light that cast her into silhouette seeped through the nearest window - along with the rhythmic murmurs of casual conversation from somewhere outside. 

“Hedwyn informed me that you lost consciousness.” Jodi stated, tone equal measures questioning and frustrated.

”Oh,” you say, _both pyre’s barely more than embers, banishment fatigue a heavy threat on everyone’s shoulders. The Orb within reach, you mind heavy on Pamitha’s back, just push a little bit harder-_ “It was a close one.”

You didn’t say that emotional stress made Reading more strenuous, because you didn’t want Jodariel to blame herself for your...sensitive constitution. You felt her blaming herself anyway.

”Is...that what you wanted to talk about?”

Jodariel shifted, unhappiness and frustration hovered around her shoulders like a fog, and you almost opened your mouth to pose your question differently before she finally responded. “I am...sorry. For leaving.”

Several responses occurred to you, variants of ‘I know’, ‘You should be’ and ‘I’m just glad you came back’, but instead you bite your lip and hope your silence will encourage Jodi to continue. She’d come to you, after all, and you hoped it wasn’t just to apologize. 

Finally, she muttered “I realize that my unwillingness to participate in Rites with the Harp-“

”Pamitha.”

”-has caused friction.”

You snorted and she sighed.

”I also realize that it would be easier, if I were more willing to cooperate. With...her.”

”With Pamitha.” You supplied.

”Reader, I am _aware_ of the Harp’s _name_.“ She muttered in a way that was just a touch petulant.

”And yet you don’t use it!” You huffed and jabbed a finger against her back, practically stone.

”The situation is,” she said, blatantly ignoring your accusation and insistant poking, “grating.”

“The situation? You mean, being around Pam?” You stopped poking her, finger vaguely sore. “Or being around a Harp?”

”...Yes?”

”Jodi, you realize that Pam isn't just ‘a Harp’?” You asked, tone incredulous. “Like, she's more than just a person with wings. That would be like someone describing you as ‘a demon’ and acting like you were just a person with horns.”

A minute lift of Jodi’s shoulders - something you might have missed, if not for her outline being what you could see most clearly in the dim room.

Silence filled the chasm between the two of you, and you thought of the way Jodi carried herself. How she spoke of her transformation, and how she’d asked if you feared her, months ago.

”...But being a demon is part of your experience of...you? And being a Harp is part of Pamitha’s experience of being her.”

Again, the silence filled the space left by your voice, and this time you let it. It was true that Pam was more than 'just a harp', but now that you'd said the words you knew she wouldn't appreciate any attempt to extricate her as a person from the context of _being a Harp,_ even considering the complicated feelings she presumably had about her culture and the war that seemed to define it. Then you looked at Jodi's silhouette, at the slight forward tilt of her head, and realized that you weren't the only one that seemed to have trouble sleeping - more often then not, if a nightmare drove you from your bed, Jodi was already up and about to keep you company and grump about your well-being. It hadn't occurred to you before that, rather than simply being an early riser or requiring less sleep due to her transformation, Jodi just...couldn't rest.

"Is it hard to sleep, Jodi?" You asked before you could psych yourself out of it, keenly aware of your hand resting on the blankets and how near it was to the other woman's back. 

"It..." Jodi began after a few moments, "...my horns are..." another pause, "...cumbersome."

With a frown, you lifted your hand and, on impulse, laid it flat against the back of Jodariel's neck. Even here there was muscle, warm and taut under your palm, and  _sore._ You'd never tried to Read a person's physical state, especially not through touch, and the fatigue was so visceral your breath hissed through your teeth. " _Scribes._ " 

"Reader?"

You started and looked up from your hand on Jodi's neck to find her looking over her shoulder at you - her eyes reflected the sparse light back at you, and your mind careened onto an entirely different, if familiar, line of thought. You thought about how this might look: you and Jodi in a dark room, you laying on the bed, Jodi sitting on the floor with her back against the mattress. Your hand on her neck, her pain as solid to you as she was - what the  _fuck_ did you think you were doing?

It seemed like Jodi needed comfort, and she might accept it from you if you offered. And you  _wanted_ to comfort her but could you,  _would you_ , do so just as a friend? It felt unfair to offer comfort just as a way to get closer to her, unfair to you both, and more than a little duplicitous. Also weren't you supposed to be talking about her and Pamitha?!

"Reader." 

"Sorry," You hear yourself saying, "I...got lost, for a second." Did that count as a lie? It implied that you were still feeling out of it from the Rite and  _yeah you kinda were,_ but it wasn't like that was what you'd just been thinking about and-

"I knew you needed more rest," Jodariel muttered, something hard in her voice that you don't think is directed at you, "and yet I-"

Your stomach growled.  _Loudly._

"I guess I need food more than sleep, huh??" You said with pointed mirth, and if your voice sounded as manic to Jodariel as it did to you, she was kind enough not to point it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey how would ya'll feel about a magic book store au? Because I have a draft in the works because...i dunno gay urban fantasy with these characters sounds fun please vote in the comments below


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